


you with the sea in your eyes (you have the ocean at your fingertips)

by SenjuMizusaya



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Age Difference, Ancient Greece, BAMF Percy Jackson, Character Death, Dubious Consent, Epic Friendship, F/F, F/M, Female Percy Jackson, Feminist Themes, Gen, Genderswap, M/M, Past Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson - Freeform, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Plot, Romance, Sexual Content, Time Travel, Trojan War, Violence, and if you've read the original myths, in which Percy makes her own myth kind of, plot build, then you have been warned about what can happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenjuMizusaya/pseuds/SenjuMizusaya
Summary: (Fem!Percy)After finally defeating Kronos, Percy had expected peace, not a flash of molten gold after which she found herself as a twelve year old girl in a village recently reduced to rubble, surrounded by a forest and Ancient Greek.A littletoomuch Ancient Greek.(Or, Percy is flung back into the past and gets a hands-on history lesson when it comes to living during the Greek classism.)





	1. Percy has a Change of Pace

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Percy Jackson!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percy is hungry enough to be morbid about death, a village becomes an involuntary graveyard and the mythology books better be ready for tinkering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a fem!TimeTravel!Percy fanfic. I wonder where that one came from. 
> 
> Anyway, so, the first chapter or two (or something) may be a little angstier than normal, because I dare you to get sent back into time and try to be unaffected when you're not certain where or when you are, let alone trying to not be super homesick or miss your friends to death. On the other hand, if you end up going back to Ancient Greece, please send me a postcard with many autographs.  
> Time travel is nasty a business. 
> 
> And, yes, I am perfectly aware Nico is gay in the original series, but this is a fan fiction, so I have the right to choose some aspects in this story. I have nothing against gay people, and in this fic I won't make everybody hetero, but Nico is bi. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy!

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Percy was dragged into the lands of the awake by the telltale sound of crashing wood, like dry branches falling onto a stone from great heights and breaking into a thousand little pieces, splinters scattered around and luring for the next trespasser to needle themselves into. The back of her head pounded with white-hot pain as though Ares himself had decided to hit her with a sledgehammer, the soles of her feet stinging and heat baking her skin. The putrid stench of burned wood and meat hung thick in the air, although the crackling hisses and roars of fires remained absent. In the absently subconscious way facts were stated inside one's head before being completely ridden of the haze of lingering sleep, she concluded she had woken up in a place that had recently burned. Through sea blue eyes, glassy and misty with lassitude, her suspicion was confirmed when the burned remnants of a house surrounded her, clay walls only partially intact and the roof providing very little shadow, what with only a few scorched, thick balks remaining, bravely supporting what little was left to protect from the dry weather. Through a large, suspiciously shaped hole in the otherwise surprisingly intact wall to her left, she could see the other houses -both those of wood and those of stone, though most seemed to be both- had suffered at least as bad as the one she found herself inside. 

It took her another minute of blurry staring at a destroyed pot charred with soot and marred with cracks before she realized she wasn't supposed to be there. The slow realization startled her completely awake, as though one of the Stoll brothers had dumped a bucket of milk over her. They had learned she could handle water. Milk was the second best option. At least they had never used juice, which could've attracted wasps. 

She bit down on her tongue, keeping in a very embarrassing scream because no matter how she tried to puzzle anything together, the amount of sense it made amounted to  _nothing_. There was a pressure behind her eyes, a migraine building, whipping around in the back of her head, her tongue a sheet of sandpaper and her throat parched leather, arms stiff and feet swollen with pain. She had been in odd situations before. She had been through many odd situations. She probably held the record of odd situations in the Jackson family, if not most of Camp Half-Blood. She had stalked down to the Underworld to demand her mother back from a god who would've liked to see her barbecued with poison as barbecue sauce. She had stolen the Golden Fleece and battled her ill-dressed, overgrown half-brother Polyphemus. She had challenged Atlas and lived to tell the tale. She had survived the Battle of the Labyrinth. She had defeated Kronos - _ish_ , because Luke had been the hero. Battled Kronos, at least. 

But this kind of trumped them all. Because in the recesses of her mind (which was in a much too small head which was in turn attached to a much too tiny and childish body) there were memories. Memories of being only Persia, no last name, a girl the only daughter of a woman who later married a pot maker. Only, they were false because she knew for a fact she was Percy Jackson, thought admittedly Persia Jackson to most enemies and a select few who weren't necessarily always out for her head, and Percy Jackson was supposed to be making her way out of Olympus with Annabeth and take the opera lift down and try to lead a normal life. 

Percy Jackson wasn't supposed to be laying in an abandoned, destroyed house in a small village of rubble. 

Vaguely, she was certain she had woken up once before, but then there had still been embers staring at her like red eyes from the corners and fireflies of sparks shooting into the starry night. She couldn't tell if it has her own memory or one of Persia's muddled ones. She did remember the cause of it all, however; a hellhound almost as large as Mrs. O'Leary had torn into the village, accidentally setting ablaze the houses as it ravaged around. She was fairly certain it had been looking for her, though it must've given up after the smoke had covered her scent and the building had collapsed onto her. 

At least she seemed to still be a demigod, if the way a cerastes (a spineless snake -literally, not metaphorically, it was quite brave- with ram horns) had attacked Persia two years ago was anything to go by. 

Now it was broad daylight. Now there was only dust and the smell of smoke, though none seemed to be produced anymore. The wood was either blackened or destroyed. But no fire. She was safe. She didn't even know which night she had woken up on; last night, or the one before, or perhaps earlier? 

Everything hurt. 

Percy blinked, the world spinning, and was more than happy and just a little bit relieved to black out again. 

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By the sixth time of dazedly waking up for no longer than a few minutes at the time, the longest being the fourth when the migraine was almost gone and most memories seemed to be sorted through and her situation didn't look like a total spaghetti disaster that would never make sense, Percy realized she couldn't allow herself to be lulled back into the deceptively welcoming embrace of darkness. Her stomach groaned and moaned, feeling like it had been stabbed over and over again with hunger pangs, every cell in her body burning for water- no, any kind of drink. If it meant moisture, she could drink anything, even trust Mr. D to find her one. 

Maybe the last part was a bit of an exaggeration. 

She felt weak, like her bones were rusted iron and her head had been dried out by the dusty, sooty breeze, but what made it worse was that despite being in a state that would've been labeled 'Severe' in Camp Half-Blood she needed to solve it herself. 

It took all her willpower to sit upright, stiffness seeping into every muscle and joint while the world seemed to be without properly defined contours. The sun stood high and bright, blazing down on her with rays seemingly almost an unforgiving white. The scent of smoke had softened, now only an underlying tinge, the stubborn pines and waxy plants growing upon the rocky landscape around her having reclaimed the throne when it came to the strongest smell. Most sound had numbed into the background, smells dulling and coming like breezes, her own body numb and head too full to properly work or even build coherent thoughts. There were traces of blood on her arm, vaguely reddish, and it took her a moment to identify the ugly scrapes puckering among the grime smeared across her skin. They seemed to be infected. It was hardly her biggest problem. Her biggest problem was surviving, closely followed by the issue of being in a no-name village not too far from the Greek coast  _very_   _much_  B.C. She was in a time when her mom hadn't existed yet. She was before black-and-white TVs' era. 

She was before  _pizza_. 

Kronos was such a bad loser, she decided grimly as she dragged herself upright, swaying dangerously and leaning against a blackened wall for support. Even in his dying moment (semi-fading moment) he made her life sour. Percy wasn't into time-travel. Annabeth didn't talk much about it, because time-travel or de-aging wasn't really something that had ever concerned either, but Percy didn't need to have a ridiculously high IQ or brilliant memory to both known and recall that messing with time was bad. More than that, any warning the daughter of Athena might've sprouted might as well have been a scratch in the sand next to the bold-print boulder towering over it, because she had no idea how to get back. Back to Annabeth and Grover and Tyson and Nico, to Rachel, Chiron, Clarisse, Sally and Paul, Connor, Travis, Malcolm, Jake. 

She didn't even have the protection of River Styx anymore. 

So much for ultra-armor. 

Her raven curls, exactly the same as she'd had herself at that age (much like the rest of her body, only was this one thinner and more tanned) were matted and dirty, hanging like a ski blanket against her neck and upper back, horribly warm and itchy with dust. The scrapes at her elbow pulled and stung when she moved. The undersides of her swollen feet pounded with the familiar feel of burn wounds beneath her soles, crusty and painful as though she were still walking on smoldering coals. Her head spun as if it was doing internal cartwheels. She wanted to cry, if only for the feeling of water down her cheeks and the distraction, but she didn't, couldn't. Her eyes were bone dry. 

All around her there was destruction. Some buildings had been completely leveled, though most only seemed to be missing roofs and parts of walls. A minute or two away, just up a low hill, there stood a small temple, the only classically Ancient Greek building in the place. One of the sturdy white columns was blackened at the base, but otherwise it was unharmed as well as desolated. None of those who hadn't instantly fled had survived the fire. Nobody except her. The corpses looked like crispy blackened rolls of meat left above a fire to see how long it'd take before it turned the color of coal. 

She missed barbecue. Her stomach whined like a dying guinea pig. The thought almost made her miss the magically spiked drinks she and Annabeth had gotten on Circe's island. 

Annabeth, Grover, Nico, Tyson. Everyone. Where were they, would they try to get her back, did they know what had happened, what were they doing? 

Percy was almost hungry enough to think a burned dog seemed to smell good. It made her nauseous, as though her intestines were tying themselves into knots and chafing against rusty metal alongside her nerves. She quickly stumbled along to the edge of her village where she knew, according to Persia's memories, there was a spring. If a wall had collapsed to crash into the stones surrounding the well, blocking there water, she wondered what she'd do. She wasn't certain she was the daughter of Poseidon this time around, and even if she was she felt too weak to try to make water erupt from too much rubble.

Halfway, she fought the urge to sit down on a miraculously survived crate, knowing perching herself upon the sooty wood would mean a rest that would last a little too long. She passed it, eyes distant and pricking, swallowing an impossible feat. Her knees shook. The heat swam in her eyes and made the ground seem like it was moving as a crib, swaying to and fro until she almost crashed in front of the well. Relief that the well was still whole and unscathed almost made her chapped lips split when she smiled, a vague and breathy thing flickering across her features like a hunted shadow. 

_Live. Then figure out the next step._

Distantly, she remembered Annabeth mentioning a human doesn't go more than three days without water without dying. Her tongue, leathery to the feel and disgusting to the taste, flicked out futilely to try to wet chapped lips. She was certain this was the third day. Maybe she had broken the record and made it to three days and a few hours. 

Percy tried to clear her mind for a moment, tried to think of anything else than not dying before she could figure out at least where and when she was, but the blood in her veins seemed to burn. In the dark green, dry Mediterranean forest surrounding her nothing big seemed to lurk. She couldn't sense any danger. She couldn't sense much at all. 

The young girl's grimy fingers closed around the worn rope at the stony wall of the well and started pulling, though it was more a clumsy attempt of dragging herself upright with it and getting a full bucket of cool water as a reward because she pulled at the rope. The bucket  _was_  attached to the rope, luckily, trembling hands clutching the bucket once she'd managed to get ahold of it. The moment before the water touched her lips, reflecting the sun like a liquid mirror, she managed to hope. 

The water felt like a triple-espresso with whipped cream and marshmallows, with syrupy caramel and ice cream on top, an instant sugar high and energy kick. It cooled her insides, she could  _feel_  it spreading, a tingle racing through her until even the tip of her fingers didn't feel as sore as before. She kept drinking, frantic, water dripping down her chin and seeping into the tattered neckline of her dull dress-like tunic that she didn't quite dare call a toga. When only the bottom of it was still clucking with water, she eased down against the wall into its meager shadow, infinitely lighter and more awake than the past few days. Carefully, so very carefully with delicate precision and almost gentle hands, she dripped the water onto the feet, not quite sure if she was praying or not. At first, there was only the relief of having the cool liquid running down her blotchy pink and red feet, but then a pleasant coldness seemed to seep right into her skin. It wasn't as potent as it'd be with saltwater, but her healing abilities were definitely there, patching up her burned feet like first-class first aid specialists. 

Percy almost started crying and laughing out of relief. It seemed Poseidon's first daughter had come about two thousand, or perhaps three thousand, years too early this time around. 

She had never though she'd be that grateful for that. 

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By the time Percy reached the sea, her skeletal appearance and flashing eyes had been softened by food and water and realization. She was in the past. She was twelve. She was kind of a little bit stuck. She doubted the gods had any remedy for that. More-so, she doubted they'd send her on her way. First she'd have to convince them she actually was from the future, which was a lot harder to since Persia had already existed before Percy, and then she'd have to convince them it wasn't a good idea to press her for information about the future for their advantage. A very Annabeth-like voice in her head said that was to be avoided. Her inner Grover bleated his agreement. 

Her inner Tyson was still mourning all the blue pizza and TV. 

It was very warm, the sun still high and bright in the sky, rays blinding and harsh, but the wind was salty and soothing, cool against her skin and everything Percy needed to keep going in the general direction. Birds chirped their melodies in the stubborn trees growing weathered and tough around her, a faint rustle of leaves and needles, the occasional snapping of a branch. Once or twice the last five days of resting and then traveling, she had been certain she had glimpsed wood nymphs and satyrs. Yesterday evening a smiling naiad in flowing green garbs had waved her when she had set camp next to a small creek slithering between the trees like a glistering ribbon. Otherwise, however, there were no mythical creatures or distressing things to be seen. At least, no monsters. When crossing a road she had seen an ordinary mortal pulling a donkey along, though the donkey in question had looked eager to be the one to pull the mortal in the opposite direction.

Her first true sight of the Mediterranean sea, not as a blue glimpse between trees or from a postcard someone rich from school kept as bookmark, made her drop her makeshift bag, an old leather purse she had approximated as XXXXXL for being a purse and taken with her from where the blacksmith had used to live before being turned into overdue-from-the-fire-meat. It was beautiful, a blue vastness of gentle waves licking at the pale, uneven rocks jutting up to mark the sudden beach, some of the white stones sticking up from the water like curious seal heads. There was no sandy beach, only low cliffs and pebbles, but it made the scene even more beautiful. Where the sea neared the pale shore it was closer to a green-turquoise color, as though straight from an internet picture from the Bahamas, sloshing contently between the rocks. There was only a gentle breeze, ruffling her tightly braided hair, bringing the comforting, salty scent so special to the sea, wafting around her and clawing through her hair. 

She smiled, truly genuine, all pearly whites and crinkling eyes and finally soaring hearts after more than a week in the past of which three days were spent unconscious as she clumsily imitated a mountain goat when descending the boulders and forming sea stacks, leaving her leather bag halfway down the small, low cliff. She could feel the sea's force, raw and unpolished like life itself, freedom and power mingling into one great oceanic piña colada that she absolutely needed to get closer to. Clambering down a large rock, a giant of uneven ends and sandy surfaces, her feet touched a slippery stone covered by algae, the water gurgling around her. Though the green mossy plants were now almost dry, waiting for the next tide to be free like spilling hair in the water, when letting go of the waist-high shore behind her and trying to get a little closer to deeper waters, her foot slipped and she took an unexpected jump into the shallow sea. 

Meeting the pebbled bottom, water rising to her chest as she sat with a dumbfounded expression, didn't hurt as much as it should've. She wasn't wet, either, though the cool of the water was a sooting balm against her heated gritty skin, washing away all the dirt and leaving her rejuvenated. A curious larger fish swam up to her, gray scales glittering in the light as it swam neared her, quickly followed by a school of fish the size of her nail that gathered around, curiously circling her, darting to and fro like miniature hens with fins. 

Her stomach growled. As hungry as she was, Percy would never be able to bring herself to eat any animal from the sea. Not when they were so nice to her. That would be like eating a distant relative, though she personally saw them more as in-law cousins thrice removed. 

She laid down between the stones surrounding her, head dipping underneath the water and the salty water washing over her skin, uncountably more cleansing than a mere shower, gently scraping away any mar of dirt or wounds, making the mosquito bites fade and disappear alongside headache and sunburn coloring her shoulders a blotchy pink. Breathing under water was always odd the first breath, years upon years of teachers warning not to breathe beneath water leaving their mark, but once relaxing she almost imagined she'd be able to take a nice siesta, much like many of the monsters seemed to do at the moment. 

Finally feeling in control enough of herself, she dared to wonder what would happen next. Persia's village was completely destroyed and her family and friends were either long gone or dead, Percy's own friends and family was in the future alongside her own home, her empathy link with Grover was downright missing since he didn't exist in this time, and she couldn't tell anybody about almost anything. 

He conclusion was that she had nowhere to go, no plan, no food,  _nothing_. Only herself and status as first daughter of Poseidon. It wasn't very much, but maybe it would be enough to get a little further. 

With a sigh she sat back up again, hair no longer greasy and matted, looking and feeling like she had just had a very satisfying day in her mum's apartment, spending the entire afternoon taking care of herself. Even the sickle moons of dirt beneath her fingernails were gone. Never had the sea patched her up that well when it came to details. Perhaps it was because she had been in such a bad state. She wondered how the sea could be more effective than a beauty saloon. Silena would've been jealous. 

Silena. She swallowed back any memories daring to try take up space in the forefront of her mind's eye. 

 _Hey dad_ , she thought, a prayer, clasping her hands together as the stared out towards the blue expanse of unpolluted sea. She hadn't forgotten to burn part of her meal in the small campfire she'd built every night in the destroyed village, so she figured she had at least done  _something_  to appease him, if only a little.  _A little help would be very much appreciated_. 

She knew him, or at least herself and the sea, which meant help could be anything, such was the nature of a restless and unbridled person. She hoped she'd get a heads up in case it'd be a shock, although she doubted she'd find herself with a Tyson-esque situation or anything remotely similar to a warning. She tried not to imagine too may scenarios, for her own sake more than anything else. 

Percy scaled the sandy rocks to get out of the water, deciding that she at the very least should keep her only belongings in a place she could easily reach or see. Her tunic, though now clean and betraying it wasn't actually a dull gray-oat color but rather a subtle shade of cantaloupe melons, was still ripped at the hems and dotted with small holes above her right knee, as though sparks from the fire had burned through them. It was hardly something that she'd want to walk down road with, especially because of her complete lack of sandals or further clothes including any form of underwear (barring the teal shawl she had salvaged from the rubble, a dye Persia's memories had supplied her with to be very expensive and rare, though the large scarf in question was safely tucked inside her bag), much less something she'd want to skip into a village wearing. 

Once her improvised shoulder bag was safely hidden into the crack between two rocks, snugly nestled away from first glances, she peered at her reflection staring back from a still puddle of water inside the slight dip on the stone she stood upon, the colors distorted and green with algae at the bottom of the small pool. The mirror-image staring back at her was at the cusp of adolescence, all long limbs and awkwardly sharp angles in that special way girls in their growth spurt could be, face still blanketed by childhood which softened her cheeks the same way the at-the-doorstep puberty had rendered her knees knobby and elbows mean. At the moment her legs were on the longer end of the spectrum, but Percy knew she'd grow up to be on the curvy side of built instead of spindly slim, more hips and bust and muscled thighs than elfin delicacy. She still had dark and defined eyebrows, the escaped locks of hair like messy curls of ink, darkly lashed eyes a truce between a green and blue, a small space between her front teeth, the sarcastic troublemaker tilt to her smile. 

At least she seemed to be exactly how she'd been in her first life as a twelve year old, only a little thinner, tanner and leaner. 

Percy headed back to the lowest cliff, sinking down until she was conformably seated on the edge, starting to rebraid her hair. Her toes almost reached the water if she stretched her legs as far as she could. She wondered what Annabeth would've done, what Nico was doing at the moment. The thoughts tugged painfully at her heartstrings. She didn't cry; not because she had no tears left, but because at the moment, it all seemed to very distant, so very surreal. She figured Persia's selection of memories helped, though she wasn't certain whether that was good or bad. At least her Ancient Greek would be bolstered by twelve years of semi-experience, as well as her understanding of how things worked. This new her had been twelve for long, having been born in the month of Hekatombaion -late July to early August- and now it was Thargelion, the equivalent of late May and early June. 

She tried to remember what Persia's latest memories were about. All she could come up with was that Theseus was definitely long since dead which meant Minos would probably already be a judge in the Underworld, and Hercules' time was already passed as well, though Troy was very much still standing. The thought almost made her double take. Being here meant there potentially existed actual siblings, that there were other children of the Big Three alive and kicking. It was a thought leaving her both amazed and disconcerted. 

A larger waved skimmed against the tips of her toes when it lapped against the pale beige rocks. Her shoulders sagged when heaving a sigh heavy as lead. She wished she at least had a goal. She wished she had any idea how to get back. She wished she could tell somebody. She wished she had actual underwear. She wished these times weren't horribly sexist. She remembered Annabeth forcing her to watch Rome as a movie marathon, remembered women being seen as objects and property, and though the ages were a little different she was fairly certain the principles remained the same, if not worse. A particular scene had stayed etched in her mind, one from the beginning of the series, when the entire army had to wait because one leader wanted to fuck a passing woman as though he were stealing cattle, right in front of everyone and nobody flinched or raised eyebrows. It said a lot about society. At least there was no racism or homophobia. 

Then the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, hands freezing halfway their work on her hair. 

A growl, heavy and rumbling, shook her from her self-inflicted pity marination, startling her into turning around. At the edge of the forest at the other side of the stone beach the bushes rustled and parted to reveal the hellhound that had destroyed Persia's village and loved ones.

Her heart sunk. That was just her luck. She didn't even have Riptide. 

Then her brows knit, teeth grinding together, waves roaring in her ears despite the sea's currently calm nature, fists balled at her side with white knuckles and nails digging into the palms of her hands. The sea breeze curled inside her lungs, tingling through her veins, and she stood up straight. This monster had killed Persia's mother and stepfather, her friends, cousins, village. She had no idea where to go or what to do, but she sure as hell wasn't going to be mauled to death by an overgrown Rottweiler beast. 

"Fuck you!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, only absently registering that it had been in Ancient Greek, and it felt  _good_  to finally say something after days upon days of silence. Anger sizzled in her veins, explosive yet fiery with adrenaline, heart beating bruises against her ribs. 

The hound took another step forwards, unnaturally bright crimsons of its eyes gleaming and drool escaping a between bared sharp, yellowed teeth. 

Percy saw the muscles ripple beneath the black fur before it pounced at her, a furious snarl reverberating through the air. She dove towards her rucksack, narrowly avoiding the claws as it sailed over her to land where she had previously been seated, almost tumbling over the edge into the water, but managing to turn just in time. She slanted a wide eyed glance over her shoulder as she ripped her bag free, almost tripping when sprinting towards the other side of the small cliff, jumping from the edge with a smarting ankle because of a clumsy step. 

The water was shallow, the uneven shock making her stumble into the sea and almost lose her belongings. The hellhound peered down at her from above, looking very imperious for an ugly beast, sizing her up after her surprisingly agile dives (though they had been mostly executed on luck, her new body was not accustomed to those moves).

Percy, knee-deep in the water and acutely aware of her lacking muscles despite her calm mind, drew the metal stick she had stolen from the blacksmith's from her bag, making the teal shawl rustle like leaves and the filled pouch of stolen silver drachmas tinkle lightly. It wasn't celestial bronze, but it was sharp and pointy, twice as thick as her thumb and the length of her arm, good for stabbing and serving as makeshift javelin. 

For a moment, she stared right at it. It seemed more arrogant than the ones she had met in the future, somehow, as though only having about a thousand years to process immortality instead of over three thousand made it prouder, more prone to bigheadedness, not yet completely over the fact that it was overpowered and immortal. For a moment she wondered if the gods would have that extra high-nosedness as well, as though they still wanted to prove their own superiority to others instead of only seeing it as a completely basic fact that didn't need to be bolstered by that extra degree. 

The hellhound finally charged, spraying water everywhere when hopping into the water and leaping towards her. The wind picked up, the almost nonexistent waves rising higher, white foam bubbling when the waves met the rocks and pebbles, her partially finished braid coming undone. The white strip of cloth she had used as ribbon lay abandoned on the cliff. 

Percy decided to take the hellhound down a peg.

She still needed to jump aside to dodge it, however, catapulting herself by the waves and digging her stick into the flank of the hellhound during her descent, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws and slicing open its fur-covered skin in a straight line and then hurriedly distancing herself again, almost gliding along the shoreline in the water. The hellhound roared from deep in its chest, the terrifying sound a mix between a wolf and an elephant. Had it been Riptide or any other weapon of celestial bronze she had wielded, the monster would've been reduced to a gust of mustard-shaded powder; alas her mimicry of a spear was ordinary metal and all it resulted in was a gooey wound stretching from one upper rib to lower stomach. She'd have to inflict more damage before it'd fade.  

She swallowed, slowly exhaled, saw its towering form approach, slower this time, muscles tense and ready for a sudden strike. Her grip on the metal poking stick was embarrassingly sweaty, but panic had yet to drive its shard of ice through her stomach, though alarm coursed like buzzing insects through her body. She willed the waves higher, stronger, more, more, more, higher, stronger,  _more_ , a maelstrom of emotion welling up inside of her, deafening but mute. The hellhound's balance was thrown off by a particularly strong wave acting almost on its own among its more rhythmic and even comrades, the wind picking up to match the whirlwind tearing inside of her, a storm brewing inside and outside. 

It seemed the fishermen wouldn't be getting a peaceful day at sea after all, she managed to figure as she propelled herself forward, makeshift javelin raised as she cleaved through the air while water flushed like a current against the hellhound, and as a great, sudden force of tide swept against the cliffside, almost reaching over all of the beach and brushing against the first plants daring to edge closer to the water, she let out her own war cry. The tip sunk grudgingly into the head between the silky ears, its young owner following suit and for a moment, Percy Jackson stood proud atop the head of the hellhound. 

Then it shook her off, howling with more pain than she had ever heard before coming from a beast, and as she flew down towards the sea she managed to think that had it only been one centimeter deeper, she probably would've defeated it. This body, for all sea-spa it had enjoyed, remained a hungry twelve year old's. She landed clumsily, the now more turbulent waters (despite the fact that the sudden tide had once again receded and left the shore vulnerable to the violently crashing waves), the sky no longer bright and sunny but overcast and ashen.  

She was willing to bet Zeus and Hades were rooting for her loss. 

The hellhound charged at her, the fake spear sticking out of its forehead like a unicorn horn, only was this not a unicorn but a great black beast with rabid eyes the color of freshly spilled blood and a roar making Percy's hair flutter around her face. Fear tingled along her spine alongside something akin to hatred. This hound had killed Persia's mother, meaning in one way her own mother, alongside all those who hadn't been quick enough or had wanted to aid her, the elderly and children, mothers and fathers, young and old, rich and poor, men and women. 

When it pounced once again Percy was not fast enough to dodge properly, her own new body too tired and weak despite the sea's backing power, lacking any muscles or strength. The clawed hit struck square in her stomach, numbing and like a brick wall, sending her flying. She landed close to where the sea met the shore's lowest point, pebbles digging into her, bruising and sudden, her ribs burning and dress in further tatters as blood splattered across the material, her stomach a field of four fleshy tears. Moving was impossible, all energy leaving together with her contact with the sea. She had pushed herself too hard, first surviving on a ridiculous diet to preserve food and then battling without the actual strength for it. 

The hellhound's muscles tensed as it went for the final killing blow. 

In the distance she glimpsed a high wave. It wouldn't reach her in time. 

The hellhound moved, veering off the ground with bared fangs and a maw of death. 

The last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the cloud, the stones around her which had previously been shiny with reflective dampness losing their gleams and twinkles.

The clawed paws stretched out, almost mid-jump. 

One stone kept shining. Only, it wasn't a stone, because from the corner of her eye she saw what looked like a hair clip of silver with a pearl as stud. 

The hellhound started its descent, a heartbeat echoing in her head. 

It was familiar when her hand closed around it. She held it near. It felt like the sea. 

The claw cast its shadow across her, just above her ribcage and bleeding stomach to crush her. 

The clip enlonged, darkened into bronze, grew sharp and trusted, balanced just for her. 

And the paw embedded itself right onto Anaklusmos. 

It did the trick, the final wound, and her world exploded into fine yellow dust as the hellhound met its appreciated fading. And then the wave came crashing over her, healing and comforting in its salty embrace, and Percy managed a disbelieving grin despite all before blacking out for what felt like one time too much. 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be _one_ OC in this story, just for the beginning (maybe two or three chapters at most) to help her along, but otherwise I'll do my very best to avoid as many as possible. I really hate it when I read stories with unnecessary OCs, so I'll cut mine short, but this one feels kind of necessary for what I've got a skeleton idea of. He's going to be a demigod, so I can definitely listen to any possible ideas about him, but I've already got him kind of planned out. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if the chapter was confusing. I'm currently a tad too tired for clear phrasings (maybe, it's always hard to judge myself) but I'd be happy to answer any questions. I enjoyed writing it, though, even if my action writing skills are sorely lacking. Well, I've got a lot to learn and I have to start somewhere....
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> 


	2. Percy Takes On A Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percy's temper isn't the best because unexpected time travel isn't a trip to the Bahamas (despite the understandable confusion in telling some places apart), she meets a creepy stranger and that creepy stranger isn't too creepy after all and helps her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't expected people to actually read this -when publishing this it felt more like this story would be popping up somewhere on ao3 with an idea too odd to even be considered. But hey, I'm not complaining, to me all the lovely comments are like what the smoke of the fires dinners were thrown into are to the gods. So thank you everyone, thank you so, so so so much^^
> 
> Also, I went back and edited the last chapter because ew, them typos. I shouldn't have proofread it when about to fall asleep. 
> 
> Finally, I have to apologize for this chapter, it's not as good as I'd have liked it to be. It's especially focused on trying to shape characters and give a glimpse to how society was like, even if it has a special focus on a single person who doesn't represent Ancient Greece that well. He's too openminded and tolerant, even if Percy still doesn't always like him because he's an "intolerant and narrow-minded jerk". Poor Percy. She has quite a lot to learn.
> 
> Side note: any speech is indeed in Ancient Greek, but that'd be a little annoying to write and I doubt all of you have a handy little degree in that language, so I'll stick to English when I write....

_"And now what?" Percy snapped, all hurt and blades inside, thinking she should've figured something was up when he'd been so insistent before. His eyes had stood determined in all the wrong ways, almost feverish. And it was a fact that Nico di Angelo's onyx never stood feverish._

_But they had and Percy had chosen to look away, to look only at her goal._

_"I'm sorry-" he started, face all wrong with shadows behind the surface and regret in those black pools. "I didn't know, hadn't known, father would-"_

_"You're going to bust me out of here, and then maybe I'll consider not drowning you." Percy bargained, tired and feeling as though part of her soul had already been sucked out. She'd trusted him. (She'd done more than trust him, she'd been prepared to give him her heart should there have been a sign of him reciprocating her feelings. Instead he'd brought her to the Underworld not for a bath in Styx but to be thrown into prison by Hades.)_

_The back of her throat burned._

_Ducking his head, she detected what had to be a stifled smile even though his tone was dry. "I don't think there's much water get for you to follow up with that threat."_

_Anger roared against its breaking point, held back only by that tiny sliver of hope, of heartbreak determined to keep on trusting. (Annabeth would've smacked her.)_

_"First you trick me and now you're taunting me," Percy accused flatly. So much had depended on the secret mission she'd assigned herself to and all she'd managed to accomplish was getting herself locked up. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."_

_"Because I can get you to the River Styx," Nico started, and that was it, he'd crossed the line and Percy flew to her feet, going from angry to furious when noticing he stood just a little taller._

_"That's what you said the last time, you stupid little-"_

_Later, she'd tell herself the reason she'd taken a step forward was to headbutt him, not to suddenly find herself stealing his first kiss from pale, cold and very much answering lips._

.

It was a breathtaking evening, the sky still azure in the east above the mountains, a few tufts of cotton clouds dotting the skies and a form wind filtering through rustling nature and fluttering clothes, the coolest yet and making the heat milder and enjoyable. In the west, the sun was a sinking ball of fiery orange, streaking the skies with amber and indigo above the horizon blurring the meeting point between sea and sky, shadows stretching like grasping hands towards the inland. Percy was wading along the shore, stones smooth and polished by millennia of the constant waves, her hair in a braid reaching just below her shoulder blades and any unwilling bangs secured back by a pearl-studded clip. The tanned skin between her shoulder blades prickled like it always did when the feeling of being watched brushed its uncomfortable fingers along her neck and spine, though there was no trickle of accompanying fear or warning bells. It could be that she had suddenly developed a hyper sixth sense allowing her to know that she was currently being watched by a god, but chances were much higher that was idle hope. At the very least it was no monster, otherwise it'd have attacked already. 

That was the second day in a row she'd had that prickling sensation coming and going. It was the third day since she'd killed the hellhound. She wished she could claim that it was another day of good meals, too, but alas she still found herself reliant on the berries (mostly goji) growing here and there and stolen loaf of bread she had snagged from Persia's village. It was dry and crumbling by now. 

And almost finished. She'd have enough for one more meal. 

She never thought she'd miss the raw beetroots she'd eaten her first two days, salvaging them from a garden half reduced to messy mush of dry, dying plants and blackened splinters. She wished the orchard hadn't been uprooted by a rampaging hellhound. 

Following the coastline had been her safest option, although she had no idea which direction she was heading towards. Coordinates were no problem, but when not knowing the location of anything around her it was became more complicated. At least she was on the mainland and not on an island, although that would not have been too problematic for her. Had she been here in the future with friends and family, preferably on her own accord, she'd have loved the place. The problem was that her best friends and unofficially unofficial boyfriend Nico weren't with her, though that was perhaps for the best for them even if Percy'd have loved both company and advice. 

She kicked a stone away, the first she'd found in her path the last half an hour, having arrived at an uneven beach of white sand sprinkled with shells. Towards her right, the sea stood endless. To her left there was a dry forest with mountains standing tough and proud in the background. If she squinted she could make out a larger cluster of houses, perhaps even a town, at the foot of one of the nearest hills. It was hours away, taking for granted she didn't get lost in the forest and pop up in the middle of a monster den along the way. 

Percy glanced behind herself for what felt like the umpteenth time, checking for any footprints in the moist, harder sand on which she walked, but if somebody invisible was following her on foot they walked far enough behind for the waves to wash away any traces before she could spot them. If they walked further up the beach she couldn't find any trail, but nor was there ever any random gust of sand kicked up. She peered between the trees, trying to make out anything moving unnaturally between the solid trunks and stubborn tufts of bushes. 

Unsurprisingly, she couldn't spot anybody. 

Or anything. 

She slung her shoulder bag further up her shoulder for comfort and kept walking, the sand cool and damp between her toes and the sea breeze a happy force playfully ruffling her hair and yanking at her ruined, knee-length tunic. Weren't it for the fact that she wasn't supposed to be there and that chances were somebody had taking a liking to following her, she'd have loved it. 

Percy glanced to towards the village again, figuring that maybe it'd be for the better if she went up there. She'd be able to get ahold of clothes and food, maybe find out a bit more about recent events since the hamlet Persia had lived in seemed to not always be perfectly aware of the latest news. Deciding that would be the best idea, she kept walking straight to stay close to the sea for as long as she could instead of diagonally starting to make her way there. 

She had barely reached the other side of the beach where rocks once again dominated when a voice rung out; "Watch out!" 

She barely felt relieved her stalker had revealed themselves before a great shadow jumped towards her, to which she threw herself to the side. She lamented the lack of peace, sizing up her opponent while she unclasped her clip, pressing the pearl and Riptide growing into her hand. 

It was Mr. Crab. 

The monster version of him at least, not the game, though the likeness was startling in the bloody red evening sun. Beady black eyes, a shell of camouflage dull blue and pale green reflected into scarlet and amber in the dying light, evil pincers and the most horrifying mouth of mold and froth she had seen in a long while. It ruined her appetite. 

Mr. Crab hissed, scuttling sideways towards her with the obvious intent to end her existence. 

Percy willed the next wave to flow further inland, intending to slide underneath the oversized monster she would not want on her plate just like the last time, wanting to drive her blade through the chink in the armor on its belly. As she sped forwards, instinct taking over, arrows with heads of celestial bronze clattered off its side, ineffective but distracting the crab enough to give Percy a free shot at surfing beneath its stinking belly, embedding Riptide into the soft spot to the hilt, and keep gliding alone as quick as she could before the shell would collapse and flatten her. 

Behind her, there was an explosion of dust smelling like rotten fish. 

In front of her, atop the cliff heightening itself from the sand, stood somebody who Percy for a single heart-jumping moment thought was either Travis or Connor Stoll, although the notion was crushed not even a moment later when the differences became apparent enough to be like a slap by a dead fish. The upturned eyebrows and thin lips were the same, looking like he had been plucked straight from the Hermes cabin, but his curly hair was a little darker and instead of sharp blue eyes, his seemed to be a startling icy silver. However, the elfish features were a dead giveaway and the lopsided tilt to his out of place smile reminded her of how Travis had once dared to exchange her Minotaur horn for a squeaky plushy Tyson had adored. 

"For how long have you been following me?" She demanded without dancing on eggshells, pointing her sword at him despite the fact that he had the advantage of being at a distance with a bow and arrows and had warned her about Mr. Crab. His smile showed teeth and he held his hands up, filled quiver and bow slung over his shoulders. It was probably the most unladylike thing he had seen, but she didn't care. 

"Yesterday morning, when you cut bread with that blade of yours," he answered, probably honest since he had tried to aid her despite the fact that she'd been handling it and had already taken down a hellhound. He had probably not known. It still left the question of  _why_  he was following her heavy between them. As if he'd read her mind, his lips stretched further and his pale eyes crinkled. "It's a demigod weapon. I had intended to approach you earlier, as we could perhaps work together, but you always seemed to be in deep thoughts." 

She judged him to be around fifteen at best. There was a scar running across his forearm, straight and clean as though he'd been wounded in battle. She didn't have a good record when it came to scarred Hermes guys. "Were you expecting me to talk to myself?" 

He laughed, as though they weren't complete strangers and he wasn't a stalker and she was a funny little monkey (which, at the very least, was better than a funny little doll). He seemed friendly enough. So had Luke and he had tried to kill her both as himself and Kronos. More importantly, she generally didn't trust people who followed her like creeps. He stepped down from the rocks, completely at ease, sauntering towards her and only stopping once he was close enough for her to discern each separate curl and the tip of her sword was pointed at his jugular. His irises were ringed a sooty gray at the edges before taking on the frosty tint a truce between blue and silver. It looked a little odd in his otherwise rather handsome, bronzed face. 

"What's your name?" He asked, curious. Had he been talking to twelve year old Persia, perhaps she would've trusted him more, recognized him as a superior because he was a male. But Persia didn't exist. 

Percy did. 

And Percy wanted him gone, yet at the same time it was comforting to have a demigod talking to her, even if he was a stranger with bad habits. She breathed in the salty air through her nose, smothering her fraying temper which had suffered during her days here. "Who are you and what do you want?" 

"I'm Adrian, son of Hermes," he replied, watching her with sharp eyes that twinkled with unholy light and questions. "I was tracking a hellhound that had massacred almost an entire village, very few got away. Instead of finding a beast, however, I find you, walking along the shore and not eating sufficiently."

"I'd eat more if I could," she cut in, because he was a little bit annoying since she couldn't get a good read on him and he was bad at answering straight questions. 

"-and despite being a young girl you fight well enough to have been a commander in an army. I'm good at spotting monsters and if I may compare myself to the other demigods I've had the- honor- of meeting, I daresay I'm rather good at seeing through any form of Mist. I can help you, get you food and clothes, if you travel with me." 

"Travel where?" Percy asked before she could clamp her teeth shut. His sharp smile widened. Had she been anybody else she would've seen it as perfectly harmless. 

"Around. Eventually I'll be heading for Athens, but first I have a lead on where to find a necklace blessed by Aphrodite. I need to collect that first," he answered easily, and for a moment Percy wondered what he'd want such a necklace for. Somehow she doubted it'd be for cultural support. Food, clothes and money seemed like a good offer, even if she had no idea what he'd want in return. Maybe her fighting skills, maybe he'd somehow offended Poseidon and hoped to be forgiven by helping his only daughter, maybe he'd do a classic from the tales and... By that point, Percy was prepared to expect anything. 

"Right," she said, staring at his untrustworthily trustworthy features. By now the east had darkened into a deep navy, the vibrant sun disappearing behind the glittering ocean and leaving shadings of violet and gold to paint the sky. "You have thirty seconds to move away from my sight, or I'll gut you." 

Adrian's face fell, almost. She was willing to bet no girl had ever said anything like that to him before. She was willing to bet almost no girls spoke like that at all. She knew how they were treated during these times, that his politeness to a stranger's callous sneers was an exception, that there had even been some famous philosopher who had described women as misshaped, weak minded, overemotional males. He offered a patient smile, throwing over his shoulder as he walked away; "I'll make camp at the edge of the forest. If you change your mind, I'll be there until sunrise." 

Percy stared at him, at Adrian, at his disconcertingly unflappable demeanor, thinking of his blunt and very much out of the blue proposal. Why had he followed her, and why did he want her to accompany him? 

She really, really, _really_ hoped this wasn't Poseidon's idea of help. Riptide had been more than enough. 

.

By nightfall, his camp had a merry fire flickering. If she squinted, she could make out his adolescent form. The raven hadn't dared make a fire, which made it easier for her to see him but him not her in case he would try something, whether that be kill her or something more like what happened in the stories-that-weren't-stories she had read and studied (she mat only have been twelve but she was unconditionally extra suspicious of random males popping up, she knew the tales of what happened to women and what role they tended to play in these times). 

Maybe she should just join the Hunters of Artemis and try to live long enough to meet Annabeth and the rest. 

The thought of being in an eternal virgin club didn't sit too well with her, however, if only because she hated rules of any kind being imposed on her. 

The smell of roasted duck finally did her in. The bread she was attempting to chew felt like it was growing the more she tried to break it. Adrian even seemed to have thyme or rosemary to spice his own meat up. That just wasn't fair. Perhaps she'd be able to coax some answers out of him, he'd seemed frank enough before. 

Once the firelight danced across her own features when close enough, he smiled once again, as though thinking ' _finally_ '. "Feel free to sit down, little girl." 

He motioned vaguely in the direction of a stone reflected orange by the flames. Percy's teeth ground together at the nickname, saying; "My name's Persia, not little girl." 

She sat down nonetheless, more than happy to accept a ceramic bowl filled with strips of the still warm meat and a salad of nuts and dried fruits. She tried not to inhale it all too quickly, but still felt a little like a pig compared to his own sedate pace. There was amusement dripping from his voice when he said; "Are you hungry?" 

She just raised and eyebrow at him and forcefully swallowed a too-large bite, then returned a question; "Why would you want to travel with me?" 

"If you've just been informed of your demigod status, perhaps you're not aware of how the system for demigods works?" 

"Don't avoid my question." 

He regarded her for a moment, wood in the dancing fire cracking, almost coolly but not quite; "I'm not. See, demigods take these quests from Kings and Lords, whether that be to kill great beasts such as the Nemean Lion or retrieve objects, after which we are rewarded. In between it's expected of us to dispose of any monsters we encounter. Odysseus wants me to collect this necklace as a gift to his wife." 

She nodded slowly, staring at him over the rim of her water cup, figuring that at the very least he was informative, which unfortunately made it harder for her to be suspicious and distrustful. She had always trusted too easily. Then something registered in the back of her head- Odysseus? 

As in, the one who couldn't get home because he'd angered some gods more than she'd ever done herself? 

She figured it was that one, but still asked; "Odysseus, King of Ithaca?" 

Adrian nodded absently, adding; "And great-grandson of Hermes, but that's beside the point. The Prophesy I received for my quest stated I'd meet a child of Poseidon whose help I'd need, so I ask you my question, Persia, are you a child of Poseidon?" 

She stared at him a moment longer, suddenly very aware of a crumb stuck above the corner of her mouth and her very ratty clothing. Not at all like one would expect a girl of the Big Three to voluntarily look like for almost two weeks. And she couldn't get overt phrasings of some of his sentences, although she was fairly certain others spoke much worse. She cleared her throat. "That would be me. And where is that necklace?" 

A momentary pause; "I'm not quite certain." 

She blinked, then sighed with frustration, sniping him a huffy glare; "What do you mean, _you're not quite certain_? Were you planning on looking beneath every stone?" 

He seemed taken aback by her lash, then said; "You were raised by royalty, weren't you? You may talk like a plebeian, but the way you talk to me, it's as though you've spent your lifetime coming up with insolent replies when it suits you." 

Percy felt like somebody had pulled a rug from beneath her feet, something bubbly and tickling building in her throat, and before she could get ahold of herself, she had to smother helpless peals of laughter by slapping her hand over her mouth. Otherwise she'd fall of her makeshift seat with giggles. "Oh, no, no, my stepdad's a minor pot maker, actually, and mother comes from a family of weavers. I suppose I just don't tend to trust people secretly following me for days." 

"Two," he defended with a mischievous smile, but the spell of suspicious ice had been broken. 

"So, a prophesy," she started, sobering when trying to imagine going to the Oracle every time you needed to get a job done. "Is Delphi a beautiful place? And what's the prophesy?" 

"Oh, for smaller quests like these we only tend to go to the court's high priest. Only the truly great quests are Prophesied by the Oracle of Delphi. I only received; 'Following the hound from Hades, it shall be slayed before the child of Poseidon would willingly offer their help, vital for the retrieval of the necklet from the depth's surrounding the island of Cephalus' tale'. It's quite simple, to be frank, but the biggest problem is that the necklace seems to be on the bottom of the ocean, and around those shores a nest of drakons lurk." 

A drakon _nest_. Percy's shoulders sagged. "Which island is it we'll be traveling to?" 

"The island of Same, very near Ithaca, although I'm afraid it's quite a while from here. It took a while before I managed to find the right hellhound, I have to admit I accidentally slew two of its brethren before I found you. I don't suppose you- you killed it?" 

Percy puffed up a little at the hesitation in his eyes, as if talking about monster massacring or admitting a girl could fight without warnings was like eating a rock. "Oh yes," she started, squaring her shoulders and feeling like she usually did when some buffoon decided she was weak, "I killed it. Well, made it fade, but either way it's gone." 

"That's very admirable," he managed after another pause, "though very reckless. I trust you weren't harmed?" 

Percy wanted to say _not in the least_ , but she'd once met a Hermes guy who could see through lies like Riptide cut through butter. "Maybe a little, but the sea healed me," she spoke after regarding him, pretending she hadn't been bleeding out on a shore with wounds deep enough to show cracked ribs and a punctured lung. 

Adrian raised an eyebrow. Percy offered a guileless smile and quickly started eating again. 

"How old are you?" She asked after while, finishing her portion and very aware he had been studying her with those eyes that seemed like eerie silver drachma in the night. 

"Sixteen," he answered after a moment to swallow what he'd been chewing on, "almost seventeen summers. You?" 

Percy blinked, having thought he was younger. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she recalled that puberty came a little later now compared to the future, where it was sped up because of all the hormones pumped into the food they ate. "Twelve." 

"I'd have judged you thirteen," he said absently, glancing up at her before poking at the fire with a stick. Little orange fireflies shot up into the sky for liberation from the suffocating flames and jailing wood, only to die out in the inky chill of the night. 

.

"What's this?" She questioned, looking up from where she'd been trying to thread a small bead glazed with sea blue and white onto a thin leather chord, looted from a magpie-ing Laistrygonian they had faded and taken an obviously stolen bag from. Most of the contents had been broken. There had been a decapitated head. Adrian had given the hair beads to her before burning the head. The necklace she made to drive away boredom had an assortment of the beads and a handful pretty shells she had found on the beach. In front of her there was her leather bag, which had prior to his expedition to the nearest town contained only her stolen teal scarf she used as blanket and the pouch of drachma, though now stuffed to the brim. 

"I promised you clothes, did I not?" 

He went over to his own bag, which he'd left with her at camp, to take out a map and check where they'd need to take the boat over to Same. They were almost exactly a week away, boat ride included, having been together for two days already. Percy opened it carefully, pulling out the one on top of it all, a longer garment dyed a soft blue. There was a subtly green ribbon to tie around her waist. A dress. 

"Figured it'd match your eyes a little," he said distractedly while measuring the distance with his thumb on the map, then realized what he had said and glanced over to her. "That _is_ a detail girls care about, is it not?" 

"Oh," Percy said stupidly, glancing down at it. "I don't think it'll match my hairlip, though." 

Adrian's gaze snapped back to her from where it had been drifting down to the map so quickly she thought he'd stretch a muscle, something funny playing across his features, a mix between annoyance at femininity and amusement. She snorted, unladylike; "Just kidding. I don't care about how much it matches my clip, but, uh, thank you." 

She took the bag, ears awkwardly red, and headed out of the clearing to change behind a tree far away enough. There was even a pair of sandals suiting her well enough. In the end the skirt brushed around her calves, a little too short, but it fell nicely around her shoulders and waist. A little too well, as though- 

Somebody had already shaped it. 

She quickly searched deeper into the bag. There were pairs of cloth she'd be able to use as underwear (her ears turned beetroot red at the thought of him getting ahold of that), a duo of silky turquoise ribbons for her hair and an additional shawl, this one dull gray, to liberate her prettier one for actual use. Beneath a small, unfamiliar pouch of cotton she found her leather purse with drachma, finding some missing, but not enough to buy all of this. Persia's memory told her all of the bag's contents would demand a much higher price. She had _told_ him to use her money to make sure he didn't steal. 

She stuffed her ruined cantaloupe dress back into the bag just in case and stomped back into the clearing, shooting him an accusing glare. "Who'd you steal this from?" 

He took his time to finish folding his map before neatly stuffing it back into his rucksack, starting to talk while meticulously adjusting the straps. "A girl I saw on the streets seemed about your size. I snuck into her house, stole an assortment, then bought you sandals, and got away with an extra souvenir to boot." 

Percy thought of the small cotton pouch and was once again taken aback by his honesty. She was starting to get the creeping feeling she was one of the few he was that truthful with. "Give it back to her. Or at least, take my money and leave some drachma for her or something." 

He finally looked at her, his silvery eyes cool as glass and a small, quirky smile twisting his lips to flash hints of teeth. He still looked at her like one might've regarded a monkey with tricks, better than the rest of her kind but still not his level, his patience with her starting to wear thin. Intolerant and narrow-minded jerk. "No. I don't want your money. I helped save their town once, a summer ago, and now I'm collecting my award in a slightly unconventional way." 

"You can't do that." 

"I just did, girl," he answered easily, pronouncing  _girl_ like one could've said vase or sculpture, an object that could possibly be seen as something positive in the right light and situation. The only time the last few days he'd addressed her by her name had been when asking if she was the daughter of Poseidon.

"It's Persia, but if that is too complicated for you, I'm fine with Percy." 

Simply ignoring her, he stood up and sauntered over, scrutinizing to see how it suited her like an Aphrodite girl could've read the fine-print on a perfume flask. The crown of her head barely reached his shoulder. "I held up my end of the bargain, now I trust you keep to yours." 

"You're insufferable," she assured him, picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and glanced back at him with turbulent sea eyes. "Now c'mon, we've got a long way to go." 

.

The port the duo was making their way through for the boat trip was a bustling place, filled with sounds and smells and colors even if the town itself was not that large or noticeable compared to others. Vendors and shopkeepers trying to drown out the others by proving their vocal capacities and selling their goods or services, dogs barking as they sniffed between the houses, zigzagging between legs and earning angry stares if they lingered too long outside a butcher's, seamen shouting towards each other as they prepared to set sail, the buzzing tumult of a thousand voices mingling, the smells of spices, dried fruit, bread, leather, sweet prototypes of pastries, sweat, seaweed, brine, bloody meat, perfumes, iron, plants and oils blending into a bohemian mix, the stands selling cloth seemingly moving as the salty wind tore through the cloth and making them flutter like uncountable flags of different shapes, patterns, colors and texture, everything from vibrant purple silks to deep blue linen to soft yellow cotton, satins of dusky orange and velvets of searing scarlet, crepe a gentle beige and muslin colored startling green chartreuse. There was a strong wind the right direction, straight towards Same from the docks, something Adrian had stated to be a blessing from her father. 

Her moment of awe ended when accidentally bumping into someone. Or rather, someone accidentally bumping into her. 

"Watch where you're going," snapped the stranger, a graying man with considerable height and pinched features, as though he spent a lot of time very concentrated, deep creases around his thin mouth and stern eyes. He looked like a clerk.

"You watch where _you're_ going," she fired back on instinct, and it wasn't until his eyes widened with anger and his nostrils flared, as though surprised and outraged by such a reply from a slip of a girl, that she realized she should probably just have muttered an insincere apology and keep going. She glanced behind the man, seeing Adrian's back as he continued on without noticing her absence, hoping he'd soon pay attention to the sudden lack of worry, which could very well happen with the way he had furrowed his brows and started glancing around. Unlike her, he hadn't been taken by surprise by the hectic life of the place, only continued on with an unflappable expression. 

For a moment, sea greens caught silvery blues.

"The impertinence," the stranger sneered, chin stubbornly set and amber brown eyes alight. His bronzed features turned more pinched. Percy wondered how she always got saddled with the talkative ones. "Have you no manners? I say-" 

She glimpsed Adrian hastily approaching form the corner of her eye, but just before she could feel relief, his hands rested on her waist when he slid behind her. Before she could react -he never touched her, _ever_ \- he had said; "Excuse my wife's behavior, she just lost a brother, she's rather upset." 

Percy barely managed to refrain from gaping, and for a moment she was certain the elderly man in front of her would start fussing over her age. Only, he didn't bat an eye. Through her shock, Persia's memories blended with a memory of her companion saying _I'd have judged you to be thirteen_ , and slowly a sort of churning sensation curled in her stomach, as though her food was taking a leisured spin slowly speeding up until there was a sickening whirlwind raging inside. She was the right age to get married. That happened when one was thirteen, maybe twelve or fourteen, depending on how developed one was. 

"You should teach her to control herself, women's irrational emotions are no excuse for such outbursts-" 

"Oh, I assure you, any other day she'd be sweet as honey," Adrian lied so smoothly she almost didn't notice it. But she did. He even smiled indulgently, _politely_ , like any younger citizen apologizing to an older man. The aged clerk looked like he wanted to object more for the sake of complaining, then blinked with a momentarily dazed look on his tanned, weathered face. 

"Of course, sweet as honey, just lost her brother," he repeated sluggishly, nodding to himself. Percy knew with startling clarity Adrian used the Mist to enhance his lies to get away easily. "Further a good day." 

The middle-aged man left. 

Adrian glanced down at her, a smirk curling his lips as though he was barely managing not to laugh. "Ready to board the Andromeda to Same, my young wife?" 

 _Of course_ the ship's name would be Andromeda. 

"I think you can stop pretending now," she told him, for it unnerved her like an icy chill to the bone, starting to walk away, Adrian next to her with a subtly smug look on his elfish face. 

"I don't mind," he answered, being so stupidly frank with her as always, smiling down at her with twinkling pale slate pools as he led her down the docks towards the most classical Greek ship she'd have been able to imagine. "You'll grow up to be beautiful, either way, anybody with a brain larger than a pea can see that. I'd rather we not risk you insulting anybody who comes within a dangerous proximity to your volatility. I think I know you well enough to wager you'd whip out acid words instead of a polite refusal to avoid trouble." 

The raven girl was absolutely certain she was blushing, an ugly suffusing of red blotching her cheeks and painting both her throat and ears an uneven pink. Luckily her tan hid the worst of it. He was insufferable more times than he wasn't, but he was very handsome and he had his better moments. Young, un-hijacked Persia would've thought she was in love. Percy in question thought she didn't want him to swim in cat piss anymore. 

It was a great improvement. 

"Why are you so honest?" She asked once the two of them were safely aboard, finally voicing what had grated on her nerves and lurked like shadows in her mind. 

He watched her for a moment, not the sort of quick glance her direction or casual watching like he usually did, like _anybody_ did, but rather an intense scrutiny, as though the answer would be written on her face and with enough concentration, he'd be able to find it. "Funny, that you'd ask that." 

"Oh, yes, I'm laughing," Percy agreed dryly, the wind filling the sails above them and the boat starting to glide away from the harbor. She didn't dare avert her gaze from him to watch the shrinking docks. "And, look here, I think even your eyes twinkled." 

He couldn't help a snort, which was a bit of a boost for her ego because even in her own time not everybody appreciated her sense of humor. His eyes were alight, leaning against the wooden railing and his smile the typical Hermes cabin one- genuine and sharp with a swath of destructive mischief within a universe of creativity. "There were moment when, mayhaps, I should have lied to you," he admitted, likely thinking of the stolen clothes, "but I never wanted to. Not with you."

And Percy felt a little mortified at that, which she remedied by thinking Luke should've taken a page from Adrian's book. 

"That's-" she started, wanting to say _sweet_ but ending up saying- "sappy." 

It always came out wrong when it came to her. At least Adrian had burst out laughing at her expression. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, Percy will be meeting very many famous people. Annabeth will be jealous. 
> 
> And, no, Adrian is not very important for the future but more like a stepping stone for plot, because she needs to come into the world of Ancient Greece somehow. I just figured I should give him an actual character, not just make him dull and simple. I'm bad at (and with) dull and simple. So in the end this accidentally became a whole chapter. I have to admit I barely spellchecked and corrected. I write it, skimmed through it a few days later, and now- tada! I hope there aren't too many stupid mistakes, like the time I missed that autocorrect had changed an adjective used to describe a wave into "Turkish". Not my best moment. But who knows, maybe I'm a better proofreader than I originally thought. 
> 
> Finally, I'd like to address the fact that it'll take a while before the update, maybe around two or even three weeks, since I'll be going ina holiday to a place with no internet and barely any 4G. There's not even a dishwasher or a washing machine. Back to basics. I have something special planned for the next chapter, though, so hopefully I'll make it up to you. 
> 
> So, what did you think?


	3. Percy Battles Drakons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percy travels with her ambiguous new companion and decides to engage in suicidal battles while deciding she'll have a silver soul at the very least.  
> Adrian is amused, as always, until he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the wait was about a month longer that I'd originally thought since a sudden deadline popped up, which was followed by a writer's block: sorry about that....  
> And honestly, I'm like oh ma gawd, people are reading this story and liking it, something which never ceases to amaze me. It was a highlight of my summer! Also, I'd planned to have her meet Odysseus and a select few others in this chapter already, but it sort of grew too long, so I've decided to make the entire next chapter dedicated to that. I even know the title already.  
> Background information: Plato, though we know him in philosophy for his belief in Forms and "Philosopher Kings" as rulers, was a little bit of a racial elitist as well, in the sense that he believed that everybody, careless of outward appearance, was classified by the soul. Gold for philosophers (who should be reasonable rulers, selfless, pursuit of pure justice and good states, be "the mind of the state" etc), then silver for the warriors (pride, ambitions, drive, revenge/honor, "the fire of the state"), and finally bronze/copper for the lower classes (who were supposedly driven only by appetites such as food, drinks, sex, sleep etc).
> 
> I'm assuming he lived before the Trojan war. I'm likely to be wrong. Sorry. I may have an unhealthy obsession with history but ancient history is what I did six years ago as a brief introductionary topic.... I'm afraid it's not really my strong suit. 
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, enough stalling, here's the chapter.

Percy was not the type to lie, least of all to herself, so it was with utmost honesty she could describe Same as a paradise island. There was absolutely no trace or tingle anywhere to betray that its unpopulated shore was the home of a whole nest of drakons, not even a shady murmur fluttering between the weathered houses of the small town they'd arrived in, no rumors of missing people. 

Most buildings were built of wood and clay reminiscent of stone which had been painted a rustic amber-yellow or a simple off-white which more easily betrayed dirt stains, the planks and balks rendered coarse and gray-brown by the constant sea breezes and salty sprays of water gradually coating some walls with a dull layer of brine barely visible, though glittering beneath direct sunlight from the side such as during dusk and dawn. The inhabitants of the island, which incidentally was part of the city state Ithaca, did not look like their were neighbors with a drakon nest. There were children and elderly, men and women, rich and poor though not of a too great difference as the village was but a small one, lively and sullen, loud and quiet. 

The sun had ascended further up towards its throning height in the midst of the azure heavens before conversation began. 

"It's hard to imagine monsters living anywhere nearby," Percy stated, glancing around with curious, sea green eyes soaking in everything she could find. The stony ground had provided stable underground for the foundations of the houses, the rocky hills further inland covered in rich greenery not as common on the mainland, speck of white visible the higher one looked up the gentle, uneven slope. The soft golden beach had made place for slowly rising cliffs. "It's so peaceful." 

"It is," Adrian agreed, looking much less surprised than his companion. Just returned from investigating what had turned out to be driftwood brushing against the lower rocks between which the turquoise waters sloshed lazily, the deep olive tan of his brow glistered with drying droplets of salty water. Percy was reminded of Twilight vampires, but didn't tell him of her association. She knew Nico would've smothered a smile and Annabeth would've rolled her eyes. Grover would've bleated a laugh. Tyson would have asked what Twilight was. But none were with her and all she had was Adrian, tall and bronzed and handsome and mulish in his condescendence and decision that he made choices and she went along. "Too peaceful." 

"That's one way to look at it," she sighed, hands on the slight, bony width of her hips. "I prefer _simply_ peaceful, though, not _too_ peaceful."

"Hmm," was his noncommittal contribution, walking on and leaving Percy to jog after, his long strides eating up the distance and leaving the cozy everyday life of the large hamlet even further behind. "And yet, none I've spoken with can give me an intelligent answer as to why none dare live on the other, much more hospitable, side of Same." 

"Intelligent answer," Percy repeated to herself, mock surly. "How many can give an answer you consider to be intelligent?" 

"Quite a few, in fact," he threw over his shoulder. He'd said it in such a way she was questioning whether she would be included in that category or not. She didn't dare ask. It felt like a wise, ego-sparing decision. As he corrected the strap of the leather knapsack-like bag slung over his shoulder, she contemplated asking how many _quite a few_ were according to him. More of a handful, a select few, a whole ale hall's worth or an entire crowd gathered for a political speech? 

"What's Odysseus like? As intelligent as they say, or more like you?" Percy asked, smiling guilelessly when he stopped to let her catch up in order to nail his disconcerting gray eyes on her, standing taller and stronger. But she was close to the sea and he never dared to do anything, even if his glares were as intense as Clarisse's with a swath of the Hermes cunning she knew to watch out for. 

"And being more like me is a bad thing?" He asked, raising a dark eyebrow, starting to walk again. Her own steps lengthened to keep up. "And as a matter of fact, I'd say the stories don't do him enough justice. It's the small things that matter. People always speak of the big, so who is to know of the details unless you know him?" 

"And you know him personally, of course," Percy nodded sagely, trying to keep up without giving him the satisfaction of jogging. Adrian didn't dignify it with a verbal answer, but the look he slanted her, brief and piercing with a curl of the lips to accompany, told the entire story. She smiled, wide and cheerful and infuriating, putting her heart into it and with teeth flashing into almost a scowl. She snarked: "Oh, do forgive my grave insult to your delicate little pride." 

However, the moment she went on the offense, her words started gliding past him as though sliding away on an iron shield coated in gelatin, and he merely smiled, slight and simple yet oh-so sharp, the merest tip of a dagger curling the corners. His eyes looked like molten silver in the unforgiving white light if the high sun. Percy tried not to flinch, even when her mind reeled and all she saw was _LukeLukeLuke_ and Connor and Travis, the train speeding out of control and for a moment, she was at Camp Halfblood. Her hackles raised, outside harder than ever even if her insides felt like torn cotton. Adrian said: "Plato considered pride to be an attribute to a silver soul*. I do think that would be better than the large masses' copper souls. And on top of that, I am quite reasonable, contrary to what you seem to have stuck inside your little head." 

"Plato also believed women could have _golden_ souls," Percy threw back, a crystal clear memory of debating Plato (rather one-sidedly) with Annabeth, the Athena girl being the one pushing the argument and rendering it more of a monologue. "I think I could imagine myself in the Philosopher Kings' little community of rulers." 

"You do?" Adrian's voice hadn't faltered or quivered, but it still hit like an amused nip- like when Nico had gently scraped his teeth against her neck, his lips curving into an amused little smirk he hid form the world against the smooth skin of her the column of her neck. She blinked away the memory to prevent a dusting of pink across her cheeks. "Well," his voice sounded through her image of a boy inky of hair and sharp of gaze, Nico dissolving. Then, a short burst of Adrian's genuinely entertained laughter, the worst sort of heartfullness coloring it: "Hah- you as a philosopher- by the gods, you've got some imagination, little girl!" Soon even his shoulders shook and she was fairly certain his hand had flickered up to wipe his eyes in an obviously manly check of emotions. "Know what, mayhaps I can consider perhaps handing the potential of a silver soul to you, but by the Fates- hah, you sitting down and contemplating to reasons for existence? Can you even talk about Socrates' manner of questioning without getting sidetracked?" 

He shook his head, dark locks almost shining with hints of fiery bronze in the light as they bounced. The two beads threaded into the messy curls above his right ear caught the light and winked at her. Percy narrowed her eyes while indignancy pulled at her lips, harshening their form like a bow pulled taut, an expression she knew to be the calm before a storm and ferocious in the future, yet doubted it to be any terrifying as a soon-to-be thirteen year old. Luckily, she walked a few paces behind the tall young man and he was unable to make fun of her expression. 

"As though you would be any better," she scoffed, trying not to like him in the least and failing just a little bit miserably. "Adrian the Wise, huh?" 

He threw the merriest of reckless grins over his shoulder, eyes like mischievous ponds reflecting the moon. Percy thought he should not look that attractive, though she supposed it was a demigod thing to possess a hint of that godly quality. Yet, she met his condescendingly playful gaze, imperiously jutting her chin out while trying not to even have a smile quiver her expression. "I don't pretend to be," he informed her, pleased in his contentment, "have I ever been dishonest towards you?" 

The answer was likely the negative, and that was what scared her. Yet, the raven cocked her head to the side and grinned like an Ares kid mocking their opponent: "Oh, how'd I know, I'm only a little girl and you use the mighty mist- for all I know you could have been lying to me all along." 

There was a sliver of truth in her words, a phantom of a nagging question in the back of her mind, but the ocean in her veins (her very instinct) told her reason it was unfortunately very unlikely. Adrian - _Annabeth and Nico and Grover and Tyson save her_ \- had become a friend. 

He laughed again, mirthful and boyish, while they rounded a rocky indent in the island. 

And then the world exploded into a shrieking roar reverberating through the air. Water exploded like white and sapphire firework, and in the midst of it all, inside the bay protected by cliffs on all sides spare the opening towards the seas, a giant neck stretched upwards, carrying a small, round, nasty head crowned with bulbous eyes and jagged teeth as long as her arms, was the drakon, scaled glittering like reflectory shark eyes. 

"Holy crap!" Percy exclaimed, startled, diving behind a rock for protection in case it turned out to be a fire-breather, although the rock behind which she'd materialized Riptide from the hair clip would perhaps only provide a few seconds of protection from the scorch. Adrian had jumped to higher ground, the air still trembling with the insane roar, the cascades of water showering down like salty rain. She shrugged off her knapsack. A sick sort of excitement made its reappearance alongside the anticipated adrenaline and concentration. From the corner of her eye, Adrian's shadow leaped upwards in a daring move. Percy didn't allow herself time to think and complicate. 

The drakon's head snapped in his direction, and instantly Percy shot out of hiding, making a bold dive away form her hiding spot with an echoing challenge, like a wildling from the far north, a war cry ripping form her vocal chords and hooking the monster's attention on her just as she, literally, dove again, this time straight out into the air and leaving her at gravity's mercy for the few addictively exhilarating moments of plummeting down towards the sea. 

The moment before the waters swallowed her in its eager embrace, she managed to take notice that the drakon was a rather small one, as its shoulders only reacher the surface, for while the waters were far from shallow they weren't _that_ deep- and then she was swallowed up by the sea with only a single thought ringing in her head: ' _shiiiit_ '. 

Energy levels spiked, her mind was sharper than anything Hephaestus himself could've forged, she felt like Clarisse as she surged upwards with Riptide firm in her grip, surfacing and riding a wave upwards- it was only an adolescent drakon, but they had to take it down before there were more to deal with. While Percy rode her building wave straight against the massive lower neck, disproportionate head snapping for her just a hair's breadth behind her, the stench from its maw barely distorted by the ruffling breeze, Adrian scaled upwards like a mountain goat towards the nauseatingly moving edge of the forest- 

Only, it was the other other drakon, even smaller, a child only and merely the size of a cottage-  but then Adrian's opponent seemed to attempt to breathe fire, and while it was but a mere puff of flames more reminiscent of a cough than a flamethrower, it certainly was a weapon to be reckoned with. 

Then Percy's attention was solely on her own larger, though thankfully non-flammable, beast to deal with. Riptide awkwardly clutched in half a hand as she grabbed ahold of one of the spikes left vulnerable to latching onto because of the way it had stumbled at the smash of her wave. The bay had been painfully serene and though the sea was eager as always to jump into action, the constraints of the nature around limited the waves into mid-neck height. There would be no demon-douse for the drakon, she realized. 

Then she threw herself away from the neck, swinging to the other side to land atop the surface on its other side and the jazz snapped shut where she'd been a split-second ago. Her right calf burned, and when she glanced down it was a straight cut, likely to leave a neat warrior scare weren't it for her own healing prowess whenever in water. Yet, she was not the only one to have inflicted damage, for while Riptide may only have harmlessly scraped off the armored plates of its glistering scales, its teeth proved to be a stronger weapons than its own defenses, the tips tearing away a few of the metallic plates. The head alone was as large as she was.

In the background there was a screeching roar she was almost distracted by, but then once against had to whoosh her wave along to avoid being gobbled up. And then the drakon started moving its entire body. It had barely struck her that thus far, it had only waved it long neck and bobbing head around, but certainly the water around her was alive and indignant as the great mass in its depths started shifting. She was grateful for the sea, however, and not only because of the immense support but also how it slowed down the young drakon. The beast's snapping jaws had proven lightning fast and she did not dare think of its javelin claws. 

She saw the shadow of the tail before the scaly mass was even within her peripheral vision, and sunk beneath the water as though it had sucked her down. For a fraction of a moment she was speeding towards the bottom, staring up towards the shifting surface, and then the spiked shadow struck and cut a line of white bubbles and armored tail across her entire field of vision, but the impact had stopped it from reaching her and she safely, for the moment, reached the uneven, rocky bottom, the sea all around her. She could discern everything: the body was truly a massive hulk of muscle covered in scales as hard as iron. An idea formed while the right claw let go of the rock it had clamped onto, slowed by the water as it rushed towards her to crush or impale her- 

But Percy had never been one to do what others expected of her, least of all when it came to dying or obeying. 

She propelled herself upwards instead, a tug in her gut and power roaring like crashing waves in her mind, and out of the sea she sprung in a neat arch cleaving towards the lower neck, Riptide ready and pointed, and sword-tip first she connected with the little soft spot above the protrusion of its massive shoulder blades, sinking into the bloody flesh where the scales had been ripped off. But of course the drakon only screeched and snapped its bulbous head around to lurch towards her, gooey substance passing as blood discoloring the waters around where it flowed in green rivulets between the scales before mingling into the sea. 

Percy did the only thing she could think of. Struggling her blade out of its fleshy sheath, Percy hurled Riptide straight into its opened, stinking maw. 

The celestial bronze blade passed narrowly between the long, jagged teeth, disappearing into the dark, the drakon's head obscured a moment later by a surge of water rising like a geyser between the young demigod and the monster. Later on, she'd be unable to explain what had happened first, Riptide sinking into the back of its throat or the head connecting with tonnes Of merciless water, but likely it was the combination of both that did the young drakon in. 

It burst into green goo and mustard dust not even a few steps away. 

Percy tried not to be too proud through the astonishment. That had been- easier than she'd expected. 

Riptide reappeared in her hand, guilelessly clean and gleaming in the light, a deadly bronze wink. Her braid was partially undone, hair hanging in tangled curls and teased waves around her head and carpeting her shoulders, warm and frizzy yet clean once again. She soaked in the soothing shudder racing down her spine. Yes, she was slowly getting used to fighting in this body, that much she was certain of. No more getting swatted around by hellhounds or making embarrassingly clumsy or novice mistakes while battling any monsters daring to slow down her trip with Adrian. 

She swallowed and felt as though she'd been doused in ice, and with a cheating push of the sea she started heaving herself up the cliffside, thankful it was an easy climb filled with spacious depressions to grab ahold of or use as foothold, not to mention the sometimes almost staircase-like patterns in the rocks. It was far easier than Camp Half Blood's Climbing Wall, thankfully- it had never been her forte and the lava had only singed her nerves as much as the little hairs on her forearms. 

When reaching the top, the sea in her eyes and veins, she found Adrian had been holding his own very well. Arrows protruded from both eyes in a grotesque manner, blinding it to counter the paralyzing effof at of meeting its gaze, yet the sneezing bursts of flames were now breathed in all directions while the tail whipped around with unnerving accuracy- the beast must have been going on sound and smell. Her friend had left his longbow on the ground together with his bag and an unfortunately empty quiver, having drawn what seemed to her a truce between a spear and a dagger. 

The young monster had an opponent on each side, and dealt with it by whipping its long, spiked tail around with ruthless efficiency. The burning trees crackled with flames licking ever higher as they were torn to the ground. Percy had to sprint away from one whose branches thundered to the ground just next to her- charring, burning, scorching and marring. Only for Percy to grind to a halt and change course as a plume of fire walled up her escape route- to her left there was an inferno of a dry canopy -an eon old oak- ablaze, to her left was the rapidly approaching wall of fire followed by a head, and in front of her was the whipping tail. Adrian stood at the other side doing gods-knew what, indistinguishable. Smoke started rising to the sky, thick ad dark like skyscrapers and more of the forest caught fire. Birds soared like bats from a cave, fleeing with echoing shrieks. 

Percy dived straight between the massive legs. The ground beneath her trembled as it turned, consequently stomping its legs. She hated her dress with a sudden ferocity as it tangled around her own limbs, shortening her strides. Almost through, its left foot caught her, not tearing with it claws but, for better or worse, pushing her away from it. 

It was like smacking into a brick wall and having it kick her away. 

For a moment, she was weightless, the numbing sensation before bruising pain kicking in. And then she connected with the nearest tree, shoulder-first, the trunk warm but not burning, only the far left of the canopy flickering with flames graciously gifted by its neighbor. The impact made one of the branches crack and fall to the dusty, stony ground with a hiss of fireflies smattering upwards. Percy rolled away, not certain if it were to avoid the relatively far away campfire or simply not to be close to a tree in case the wildly lashing tail would hit it down atop her. 

And then everything shook in a seismic wave of sound and color. An explosion rocked the ground, the unnatural liquid of greek fire briefly glimpsed before the entire drakon exploded along with it in the yellow dust of a monster fading. 

Her eyes rung with a distant sort of _peeep_ , vision not quite blurry but inexplicably disorganized, unhinged, incomprehensible. Her arms and fingers stung with almost-there burn wounds, hot soot blotching her skin. It was all very familiar. Then, the first realization set in: the second drakon was defeated. But then, a moment of silence in her mind-

Adrian had used her as a distraction. 

She dared to rest her chin onto the uneven ground, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to breathe, only to quiver with coughs as the dusty air tickled and irritated her mouth, throat, trachea, lungs. That had been a close one: it had exploded so near, she'd almost been able to see the pot break behind one of its massive claws, caught a glimpse of the swirling, poisonously green liquid, felt the shockwave hit her and singe her, sear her eyes even as they shut close, knock her down. 

For a moment, Percy numbly stared at the suddenly empty spot within the crater left, one side of it with overview of the white cliffs and contentedly glittering seas and the other a blackened wood whose fires had been partially extinguished by the shockwave, reminiscent of something from Persia's traumatizing memories, darkness and shadows and bony branches reaching towards the skies like charred fingers of bone, red and fiery orange eyes peering at her form all directions, some small fires flickering innocently in sheltered corners between the roots and among fallen trees.

But she was alive and it had been a good move. Theoretically. The battle had drawn to a close and more than anything else, Percy felt tired. She heard Adrian approach from the side, his steps slightly hurried but not quite a run, the sound muffled by the layers of sooty dust coating everything in its possessive greed. Closer, closer, there he passed the half-standing tree while sounds mingled with the ringing of the air, here he walked past a rock that had almost cut her while her mind finally reorganized herself, and then he was almost next to her. 

Percy went from sprawled on the ground like a broken rag doll to kicking his legs out underneath him. Caught by surprise, he tumbled to the ground while the young girl, painstakingly, crawled upright. Her head spun but her limbs obeyed and the bells in her ears finally disappeared even if a slight mooting quality cottoned the sounds dancing around her. 

"You deserved that one," she informed him, grateful her words were clear and stance steady, "I could've died." 

"Yet you have not," he pointed out, had the gall to crack a little, tiny grin, then attempted to tuck it away and look more bashful. 

Percy said: "You're kind of an irresponsible nut, in case you didn't know." 

"One who defeated a drakon," he answered, sitting back up straight and pushing himself off the ground. He surveyed the scarred landscape circled around them. "Lord Pan shan't be happy." 

Her anger and humor was blown away with the melancholy breeze, glancing around to mourn the little half-circle of coal and embers around them. "Let's hope the ashes will allow the plants to thrive even more- isn't it around volcanoes that everything grows even better?" 

He gave her an odd look, dark brows furrowed and a slight line creasing between. "Volcanoes?" 

Her mind raced. Persia's memories were ripped up to the surface like a lexicon and skimmed through with the panic of a student trying to look up a vital word just before the exams. "Ehm- I mean, the fire mountains. Old thing stepdad used to say. Family tradition. Around the fire mountains plants grow easier, greener." 

"Yes, I suppose," he said after a moment with a noncommittal shrug. "I've heard something similar." 

Percy tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as they both went to retrieve everything they'd dropped along the way. Halfway down the rocks, this time taking the longer but safer route as with the adrenaline dissipating and sea ebbing away, a worn sort of exhaustion reminiscent of waking up with sore muscles after a long workout sinking in, she turned to the sea, and thought gravely: _thank you, father_. 

The breeze smelled of tye far oceans. A warm sort of sensation tugged on her lips. At least he was still there- but who was to say he was the same as he'd be in the future? Now he was already old, yet had almost three thousand years of experience less on his page than he'd had when she'd met him the last time. She put the thought out of her head, sighing. 

Percy reached her leather-and-cloth bag, haphazardly thrown into the corner between two rocks, the surface wet and drying, smelling of salt and limestone dust. Yet, when she checked the stuffed insides, it was all still dry. Her fingers brushed against the little mystery pouch. A heartbeat. She swallowed, knowing Adrian assumed she'd already seen what it was, yet she'd not dared to open it yet. Curiosity tugged at her mind- there was no reason not to open it, no reason not to to check. 

Mind made up, her hand closed around the little thing and fished it out, pulling it open with nimble, calloused fingers. It was a single stone. She felt bewildered. A very beautiful stone, granted, a truce between green and blue and all colors between shimmering with a pearly sheen almost violet in the right light, smooth in the palm of her hand, shaped like a dented egg. There were no sharp corners. It must have been expensive. But Adrian had stolen it together with the clothes she wore at the moment and there it was, smooth and cool in her gritty hand. It was a most impractical object. What could she do with it, chuck it at a harpy? 

She opted against saving it for such an event.

Percy double checked her ruined cantaloupe-shaded dress was still there, as well as the ugly scarf, the little pouch of money, unnecessary objects such as the little necklace of beads and shells and green stone, as well as her part of the rations they'd bought were still there. She wondered how Adrian had dared to lug around a little pot of Greek Fire for the entire journey, shook her head and pursed her mouth, told herself she wasn't as reckless, smiled at the lie, and heaved the luggage over her shoulders and adjusted the rudimentary cloth-straps. Still tired, the trek upwards was harder than she remembered, but within three minutes she was at the top of the cliff. Adrian waited at the other side of the clearing, his parchment map out and a light sort of joy softening his features. It was the first time he'd looked upbeat while studying his endless supplies of maps. Percy took it as a good sign. 

Then she remembered that it had been a _nest_ of drakons on the island. That meant that the mother was still there. 

.

They found it asleep. Percy was not certain how it had been able to sleep through the loud murder of it children, but there it lay, curled up and massive, at least the length of a New York skyscraper. The horns were mean and shaped like icicles of hardening lava, scales like chips of the armor from a tank, specked green and dull red rendering the monster almost brownish from a long distance away. 

"Can't we sneak around it?" Percy asked in a hushed whisper, peering at it with a furrow beneath her brows. Its marginally softer stomach could be partially glimpsed, but this was a category of its own and she doubted it would be as easily slain as its children. "We didn't have to kill all the drakons to retrieve the necklace, did we?" 

"No," came the barely audible answer. The muscles of his neck stood tense. "No, we can just go around." 

Go around they did. Off the narrow goat-path snaking up the rocky hills clad by waxy vegetation and low, crooked pine trees, down a little to the more fruitful edge of the forest wherein leaves were lusher and oaks were more numerous than the needled trees, avoiding the rocky outcrop halfway a cave where it had made its home. Hushed,?Percy asked: "How are we supposed to find that necklace?"

Adrian didn't dignify it with an answer. Percy wasn't certain if she'd already fulfilled her part of the quest, for her role hadn't been specified further than he wouldn't have been able to make it without her, whether that be because he couldn't have taken on two drakons at once or because it was on the bottom of the sea somewhere, she had not even a phantom of an idea. 

"I do believe I found it," he suddenly said in a low voice, and she followed his gaze to where the shiny little necklace adorned the tip of the drakon's tail. Percy hadn't known monsters liked to don jewels, but this one clearly did. She was unable to appreciate the humor in it. "Not on the bottom of the sea, after all." 

"Then I suppose it means you needed my abilities in battle," she found herself obliged to point out. "Are you still  _mayhaps considering perhaps handing the potential of a silver soul_  to me?" 

"Still contemplating," was the swift answer, "you take the left, I take the right, don't make any unnecessary sounds, girl." 

"Wonder why," she muttered to herself, just loud enough for him to hear, stealthily setting off between the porous white rocks jutting up to waist-height, some adorned by stubborn vegetation clinging into them with roots spreading beneath. She wondered if the Fates would be with them for once, letting them take the necklace without the drakon waking up. She tried to be optimistic. She also tried not to give the Fates an opportunity to prove her wrong. 

Adrian distanced himself from her to the right, taking a detour. If one woke it up and therefore was obliged to distract it, the other would have to pounce onto the whipping, spiked tail. _Joys in life_ , Percy mourned, not all too depressed even if her muscles burned and she felt as though the great well of power inside was running low already. She may finally have grown accustomed to the body and learned its limits, but she was once again on the cusp of adolescence and had only a fraction of the power she would come to have, were she to possess the same skills as in her future-past- not including bathing in the River Styx. 

Adrian reached it first. Percy wondered if she should slide her own makeshift necklace onto the tail as a replacement, in case it meant it would not notice its disappearance. Then she figured it was perhaps not the best idea to linger longer than necessary, as she was the equivalent of a beamer in terms of demigod aura. She shot the monster a nervous glance as she tried to soundlessly crawl over a particularly large boulder in her way, the slight hissing sound of cloth passing over stone or a foot gently meeting the ground loud to her own ears. She swallowed thickly. She'd grown used to always having the sea near. 

It made her smile. She was back to how it had been in her first life, even if only to some extent. The sea was still with her, she knew. 

She glanced up just as Adrian made a hasty signal for her to retreat. The drakon snoozed on, but she could've sworn it had grunted a little, or perhaps simply breathed in deeper. She froze, tried to hide her aura even though she did not even know if it was possible to smother such a thing by willpower alone- likely not. In Adrian's hand, a little necklet of white pearls with a small sphere of silver between each gleamed, disappearing into the depths of his practical little bag. It was likely the most expensive thing she'd seen thus far her entire time in Ancient Greece, or perhaps even longer. 

She allowed herself to scowl as she crept back again. She'd maneuvered almost all the way to the beast, only to be called back, having done nothing but entice the drakon to wake up. Her heart beat cracks onto the inside of her ribs, bruising and hard as though it wanted to break free. Percy very much preferred to keep it where it should be. 

They descended in silence, speed slowly gaining the further away out of hearing range they got from the monster. Before long, she was out of breath with burning muscles and sweat dripping down her back and staining the cloth, gleaming on her sooty forehead, dampening the hair plastered to her neck, moist between the pert little hints of breasts, gathering in closed, tanned fists as they almost ran across the newly created, black clearing where mercifully no fires raged. 

Her fingers trembled as she, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day, climbed down the rocks to the lower parts of the cliff to reach the sandy beach below. Adrian's advantage of being older, more muscular and having more stamina started showing as he slowly pulled away.

Then, the most ear-shattering roar yet. Percy didn't dare glance upwards to the more mountainous parts of the island where the drakon had previously been a still little spot easily mistaken for simply a shadow. Adrenaline took on the role of gasoline, dredging up the last little slivers of energy and revving them into life. 

They raced along the parts of the shore where the sand was hard with absorbed water but waves did not frequently reach to turn the sand into sponges. It was a difficult equilibrium to find, but no less important. She ground her teeth and pushed on, keeping up but just barely, lungs burning and hints of sea soothing the muscles. She was fairly certain she shouldn't rely too much on it, however, fearing the backlash certain to come later. Frustration took most of her energy's place, an angry fuel of pride, fear and determination. In the background, the roars continued, suddenly starting to move nearer. She glanced behind her, seeing the little figure moving like a dark shadow up the mountain, parallel to them but far away. 

He grabbed ahold of her hand and half-dragged her along. She bit down onto her tongue and tried to speed up, refusing to be anything of a burden, forcing every little grain of life into keeping her legs going. Finally the village came into view. Her throat burned with thirst and muscles with fatigue. Adrian, too, was out of breath, but looked in much better shape, grabbing ahold of her hand and dragging her along through the village. The inhabitants all turned wondering eyes towards the low mountain, but despite perhaps not knowing what it was, their shoulders were tense and none looked keen on wasting their attention questioning why the two strangers returned sooty and sweaty, hurrying through their village. There were children, mothers and father, grandmothers and grandfathers, sisters and brothers, uncles and cousins, vendors and craftsmen and weavers and fishermen, over two hundred people. 

Percy was Persia and for a moment, it wasn't a stranger's place she was running through but her old home, together with a little half brother and friends, all dead and gone because of a rampaging hellhound leaving corpses and destruction in its wake, desolation and despair awaiting all. She glanced over her shoulder: the little figure of the drakon had grown larger as it approached, now a shadow towering over the trees as it tore towards them, perhaps only five or ten minutes away. It had taken them an hour to return.

She skidded to a halt, pulling at his larger hand, almost stumbling as he tried to go on. He whipped around, about to snap something, but she cut in before him, finding a strength gods-knew-where to clench his hand in her own to stop him from simply continuing on, digging her feet into the uneven soil beneath her. "We can't leave them," she rushed, willing him to understand, "it'll tear straight through their homes." 

"We don't have time, we- can't, not now, not after all of this- can't you see, girl!" He protested steadily, starting to drag her along. She was ashamed when she found herself unable to stop him, digging her heels into the ground and tearing at his arm. "Stop that, if we hurry we still have time to board the ship safely!" 

"They'll die!" Percy threw back, and he glanced back at her, a sneer twisting his features: 

"There's nothing we can do, mayhaps if we get away it'll leave them alone to cry at us from the beach!" There was an arrogant sort of irony tainting his voice, as though once again realizing it was a girl he was arguing with, not a companion. With a violent jerk she was unwillingly following him again. 

And suddenly she was deathly calm. She ripped her hand out of his grip instead of futilely trying to drag him back, iron resolve painting over her ragged state of mind and worn state of body. "You go, then," she fired cooly, "I'll stay alone." 

His expression changed from annoyed and sneering to one of unexpected fury and frustration, brow furrowing and a scowl marring and twisting his bronzed features, eyes the only light speck, ghostly silvery blue. He grabbed ahold of her shoulders, bruisingly hard, almost shaking her, intense and raising his voice fractionally: " _You will not-_ girl, I will drag you along if I have to, it's a fruitless waste of our own lives!"

"Adrian-" she started, but his hold tightened, a step nearer. 

" _Persia_ ," he said, compelling her to hear him out, still forceful but voice now almost a hissing whisper. He'd called her by her name. " _Persia_ , you will _not_ try to play hero. You _will_ go with me, to where you are safe."

But Percy did not nod and agree. Percy did not flee with Adrian, did not board the ship, did not selfishly get away to safety, did not go along with his wishes and the easy option. 

Percy straightened her back, snarled at him with eyes a stormy ocean, and said: "No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wow, yes, I actually updated. I'm sort of okay with this chapter, though, which doesn't always happen. Adrian sort of happened. He wasn't supposed to have happened to begin with, but last chapter he showed up and now his conversation with our lil Percy took too much place for Odysseus and Ithaca's court to make an appearance. To contradict what I just said, I'm also afraid Adrian will be leaving for a while after next chapter, for while he will bound into the story in the future again, he's done his job for the first third at least: sorry for those who liked him, there was a surprising amount of you out there...  
> Also, I edited the tags a little because now that some time has passed and I can analyzed my plot line more critically (objectively, at least), I think I can give a clearer or more accurate view on what this story contains. 
> 
>  
> 
> Lastly, I've realized I'll need some severe practice on my action writing skills, because poor Percy and drakon, I flubbed their could-have-been-awesome scenes. I think. But no better way of learning than doing, right? 
> 
>  


	4. Percy Infiltrates Royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percy fulfills Annabeth's secret dream and makes one of her own: perhaps one day she'll be able to tell her future friends about her adventure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody! So, here's the next update, starting out with some confusion, perhaps, though all will be clarified rather quickly (I believe). I was almost tempted to publish a one-shot as a side to this story: a human-1920s-AU one, wherein she meets Luke Castellan at a talkeasy, her being fifteen and him twenty-two. I didn't. I would have gotten carried away, I'm afraid, because I think some of you may already know how good I am at continuing my stories ;)
> 
> Also, I have to confess I read parts of The Iliad for this- and there it very specifically states something along the lines of "Achilles' golden hair" or "sunny yellow hair" or "yellow golden tresses" -you get the point. But in the Percy Jackson books he's described as having short, dark hair. Also, in the Iliad I don't think he's mentioned to be particularly buff, and I have no idea about his eye color but it might have been gray-blue (??? here). So, erm, maybe I'll combine RR's version and Homer's? (I definitely will.)

When Percy woke up, it was in luxury and comfort. It felt as though she was tenderly being rocked at the bottom of the ocean on a bed of soft sand, slowly floating upward to the distant surface, away from the dark comfort and towards the light and jerkier movements. She wanted to sink back to the deep slumber, but instead she drifted up faster and faster, sound starting permeate the water, lights flickering, shapes taking form, more and more and more and with a reluctant blink, dark lashes fluttering, she realized she was awake. It was difficult to tell when exactly she'd gone from sleep to being awake. It was a little like telling the exact moment one went from alive to dead- like Persia's poor little brother, whose screams had weakened while the flames around him grew stronger. She blinked again, swallowing, left foot jerking abruptly: she'd killed the hellhound, she'd exacted her revenge. But just like the drakons the hound would keep coming back forver, and we're she to die she wouldn't be returning. Even alive, it seemed she'd be unable to return to those she'd left back in the future. 

She burrowed deeper into the pillows, the thick mattress soft beneath her as though it were stuffed with feathers and wool, the blanket soft and warm, a breeze caressing her skin in a soft whisper. Percy froze. She dared not stare further than the blurry outline of her bronzed hand against the soft blue and white pillows between which it rested, fingers curled ever so slightly. After a slow exhale she dared look a little further, hesitant. The mattress was elevated atop a wooden structure, it seemed, meaning wherever she was it was ruled by somebody wealthy. The soft pillows, covers and mattress were also of material reinforcing her assumption because springs had yet to be invented required people to fluff and reorganize them after every single nap spent amidst the linen and feathers. 

A slow, clammy sort of panic set in, curdling her blood like icy nails raking across her skin: what was she doing here? 

She shot upright, blanket almost slipping down. Head spinning, she jerked it back up to her chin, wrapping it around her like a cocoon: she was naked. Luckily the constant breeze curling through the three large, curtained windows kept the temperature bearable, for in the summer heat wrapping herself in covers could've become unbearably hot. Sea-green eyes flashed all directions, taking in the spacious room she found herself in. The pale blue curtains danced in the wind like gauzy mist, behind which she had the most breathtaking sight of the edge of a rocky beach greeting the Mediterranean. The floor, walls and roof were all the same creamy white and sandstone-beige stone, smooth and polished. An empty hearth gaped in the midst of the far left, while the opposite wall housed what seemed to be a low, wide shelf of rosewood and a matching wardrobe. Leaning against the wall next to her bed was what seemed like a silvery, flat shield, and it took her a moment to recognize it as a mirror. On a low stool-like nightstand next to her bed was her bag, suspiciously deflated as though half of its contents had been stolen. 

Then- 

Her entire body burned with shock and alarm, as though she'd been struck by lightning, her hand flicking up- but the little clip was there, the slight swell of the pearl stud cool and comforting against her fingers. Another slow exhale, shoulders sagging and features softening, eyes lidded. She knew Riptide would always return to her, but she hated not knowing where it was. 

She reached out, goosebumps like a constellation across her skin from the shock even though it was rather warm, grabbing ahold of the bag and depositing it in front of her, opening it with one hand only, struggling a little. In the end, she discovered both scarves and the ruined dress to be gone. All that remained was the cotton pouch containing the useless yet pretty green stone, the leather pouch filled with silver drachma and the two odd gold ones, the even more useless necklace she'd made out of random beads and shells- she would never wear it, anyway, she was not fond of jewelry. Not including the Camp Half Blood chord, that was, but that was special. The rations had disappeared as well, not a crumb remaining. Percy did not feel sorry for the loss of crumblingly dry bread and squished berries, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. 

She had to figure out where she was. But to be able to explore and, worst case scenario, break out and escape, she needed clothes. Her sight was set on the polished wardrobe. She slipped out of bed, was grateful for the warm climate when scurrying across the lukewarm stone floor on her tiptoes, and pulled open the heavy, starched mat servings door. She wondered if hinges had been invented yet. She was fairly certain a form of it existed in Egypt, at least, meaning perhaps the wealthiest in each city state had them for some doors. 

Once she'd found underthings to wear Percy came face to face with bright and deep colors when it came to dresses and tunics. Only wealthy people wore those. She even saw scarlets and tangerine oranges, the most vivid shade of turquoise yet, a dark blue dye, a long tunic going from dark indigo to white, those with patterns at the edges and those almost slightly see-through in the right light. Percy swallowed, flickering through them until she found a pale periwinkle one. The least extravagant of the bunch, the one most likely to be unnoticed in. She wished there could have been a more neutrally colored one- parchment white or a tan yellow would have been preferred. 

The raven tied the accompanying lavender chord around her ribs, and retrieved her bag, trying to recall what had happened before. There had been the massive drakon, she'd already been exhausted. She'd stood between it and the village. Adrian- Adrian had been there, he'd stood with her, eventually. Scowling, granted, but he'd been there. The villagers had been fleeing and then sand had been whipped up beneath its claws and the roar had shattered the air around her. The memory was fuzzy. She'd flooded the beach, she was certain, for the villagers had run away and there'd only been replaceable collateral damage to the hamlet behind her. Adrian had clambered onto its shoulder at some point. She'd blacked out just moments after the drakon had exploded into nothingness and Adrian had tumbled into the receding water, spluttering. 

She'd blacked out like that after the hellhound, too, but for different reasons. 

A movement from the door made her whip around, Riptide materializing in her hand before she'd hardly registered the movement. (So there _were_ hinges, however rudimentary.) She was faced with a young woman whose eyes were almost darker brown than the dark waves tumbling around the longer slant of her face. Of course the newcomer would be wearing a beige tunic reaching her ankles instead of a colorful garment. A servant? 

"Who are you and where am I?" Percy demanded from over the blade pointed straight at the woman's jugular, hackles rivalling the highest buildings of the future. They were only a handful of steps apart. Dark brown eyes widened with terror. The demigod tried not to feel bad, fighting a wince, but self preservation was a gift and since arriving in the past Percy was trying to find out if she had any at all in order to stay alive. 

"Milady, I am known as Aedike," the woman answered after a moment, rooted to the spot and watching her with those large, doe like eyes. "You are at the citadel of Ithaca."

Oh. _Oh_. 

.

Being bathed by somebody was a distinctly odd experience. Percy could freely admit that getting a scalp, foot and hand massage was lovely, just like the water was just lukewarm enough to be comfortably cooling but not chilling, but being naked in front of somebody was- something she would have to learn to be more comfortable with. It felt odd: Aedike never stared or did anything wrong, but the American side of her stubbornly clinging onto the raven's mind experienced an acute case of embarrassment. 

Being dried was a step too far: it was one thing to have a fluffy cloth (prototype of a towel) handled by someone else, but it was so very careful and doting, as though applying any pressure against her skin was a great sin. Percy sighed, tried and failed to smile and likely grimaced instead: "May I?" 

She hastily pried the pre-towel away from the servant, taking a step back and gritting her teeth now that Aedike truly watched her, in all her nakedness, for the first time. Percy stubbornly dried herself off with harsh, steady movements hard against her bronzed skin- it was so very much more practical and efficient that way. The brunette woman left, and she assumed it was to retrieve a different set of clothing. 

The time-traveler was quick to attempt to dry her hair, squeezing out the droplets and letting the moist tangles fall freely down to her shoulder blades when wrapping herself into the pre-towel, trying to imitate a burrito and daring a furtive glance in the direction of the ever-professional approaching woman who, if surprised at Percy's attitude and insistence, did not show it.

The new set of clothes was of a brighter color than the last ensemble, and in mute stubbornness Percy insisted on slipping into the teal dress herself, smoothing down the skirt of the garment and glaring into the silver reflection staring back at her, grotesquely disfigured, at the other end of her room. Percy had never been off-put by a mirror before. It wasn't an experience she particularly liked.

She dredged up all of her not too inconsiderable confidence, standing straighter and pretending not to feel like she was hopelessly lost, lost in a way she couldn't put words on. "Er- where is Adrian?"

Aedike couldn't have expected that to be the first demand, for she blinked and the time traveler was fairly certain she'd even stood a little straighter, but she answered without a pause: "I presume he is still in the Hall of Feasts with milord. I have- orders to take you there, once ready." 

"I'm ready," Percy stated, lying. Her companion was alive, and now she had to figure something very important out: how did one greet a king? Three thousand years into the future there were no powerful monarchs to hop by to gain experience in such matters. Three thousand years into the future she'd managed to get away with a lot of nerve for her stunts and statements. Three thousand years into the future the gods had gone through much more and done some aging, settled more. Everything felt volatile, and that wasn't good, because Persia Jackson was volatility incarnated. 

They walked down the hallway in silence. To her right, pillars lined the way and created stripes of shadows across the ground, the sea a turquoise sheet of glitter, and to her left there was the cool stone of the wall, rounded to melt into the roof providing shade above. She felt like jumping down the two levels down, tumble down the sloping, scarcely vegetated cliffs and swim far, far away.

She didn't. 

It turned out the Hall of Feats was a great space reminiscent of a throne room, only in the style of Ancient Greece, and there was hardly a great feast going on at the moment. It was sparsely furnished, with three long, wooden tables taking up most of the space with stretching, polished benches serving as arrangement for seating. The high windows let in white-gold rays leaving patches of light across the floor and walls, but the iron handles meant to carry torches evenly lining the walls held no light and cast the alcoves and into the realm of shadows. She imaged that during evenings when fire flickered in their embrace, the hall's shadows alive with movement and the room filled with people, it must've been quite the sight. But now, despite the vastness of the area, it was underwhelming. 

The man sitting at the end of the table even more so. He wasn't tall, especially not sitting, but not suspiciously short either. He glanced up from the papyrus he'd been writing on: even from a distance she could see that despite the dark mop of hair and healthy tan, his eyes were the same blistering, nordic blue-gray which she'd only ever seen on those related to Hermes: so that was the king? Odysseus beckoned them over with the free hand adorned only by a single, simplistic ring. Percy was starting to almost feel a little bummed out, squashing down the disappointment and rising wariness as she made her way forth, halting momentarily when Aedike did not accompany her. She caught herself slanting a pleading look at the servant whose expression didn't waver, then continued on toward the man who had an almost ruffled air -distinctly schoolmasterly in fashion- about him. 

Percy stopped a few paces away at the other end of the table, and when those pale blue pools met hers she wished it was the long end separating them, not the short end. She wished he sat atop a throne with great dignity and wealth, because at least she'd be able to pretend then. But here there were falcon eyes in a middle aged man she'd have taken for a shop vendor, not at all awe-inspiring. He had a rather scruffy look on him, despite his neatly trimmed beard and carefully layered clothing of -dammit- brown and white. Around his left wrist there was a wide strap of leather. Perhaps it was the gray sneaking into his muddy brown curls, giving the surprisingly short (from what she'd observed, the richer one was the longer one could afford the keep the hair, the best length being shoulder-length) tousles a mousy shade, or the thim scar running along his jaw the unflattering light pointed out to her. He was also the only one who'd been present when she'd arrived: no guards, and especially no Adrian. 

She intended to say _thank you for your hospitality_  but what came out was: "Where is my friend?" 

She wanted to reach out and pluck the words back as they filled the air, but she'd only been able to pluck something once in her life and that had been at a cheap carnival with Tyson when she'd paid in vain at one of the _Grab The Plush Toy_ automats (where she'd obviously failed), to which Tyson had slightly illegally happened to kick it and give her a second chance. It was a comforting memory. 

Odysseus smiled, surprisingly. She was reminded of the time when Chiron had been Mr. Brunner and she'd scored her first-ever B on a test: it was the same sort of glow. The creases around his eyes deepened. "He left only a little before you arrived. I do believe you will find him at the training grounds, but first- do forgive me- take a seat."

"I..." she searched for words, grappling with the inability to say something appropriately fancy. "Don't think there's anything to- forgive," she said after a moment, then added, "sir." 

An amused look washed across his weathered features. It was hard to guess his age, and even sitting in front of him at the table, the wood of the long bench spanning down the side of the table, there were few particular details to discern. Permanent claws winging from his eyes and a scar, those were the only mars. But on the other hand were there few features she could label as beautiful, however: he was very average, all browns and grays except for those eyes she was fairly certain only vikings had at this time. Or were the vikings later in time? 

"Good," he answered easily, "I take it you slept well?" 

"Yes," she confirmed after a heartbeat, "I did." 

"Good to hear." He sounded genuine. "The secret to success is sleep. Everybody needs sufficient rest, it's a universal law applying to just about all. Of course," he indulged in a little smile, "I wouldn't dare insinuate the gods need as much as we do, but in the end," a sweeping gesture and the scrolls were moved aside, "all shall find the need to catch up with themselves." 

"I- yes." She was successful in her endeavor not to make it sound like a question, but the realization that she was letting Annabeth down stifled her triumph. Here she was, with Odysseus in person, and they were discussing _rest_. "Thank you fo your concern. You- you are? Rested, I mean. Sir." 

He laughed, a low and chuckling sound which reminded her of grandpas (though she'd never had any, not in a mortal way, at least, because otherwise she'd have to include Kronos). "Yes," he chortled under his breath, a twinkle in his eye. "I am well-rested. I trust you will be able to attend a dinner this evening?" 

"Yes," Percy confirmed, feeling like a broken record. "Who will be there?" A rush to add; "if I may ask, sir." 

She realized she did not like talking to kings, especially not those who made it difficult for her. His answer sounded kinder than she felt it was. "Of course you may ask, ask as much as you'd like. The question is always whether you get the answer, don't you think? You strike me as the kind to think a lot." 

"I think enough to know that is not an answer," she blurted, meeting his unnerving gaze and feeling grateful Adrian possessed none of that hawkishness. She held her breath. 

"That would depend on the definition, I'd say," he answered in the same amenable tone he'd used all along. And she could breathe again. 

"I'd say that if there's anything universal, it's that either you answer the question, or you say something completely different which isn't an answer, and you did the latter," she pointed out, wanted to disappear to the ground and futilely added, "sir." 

A fond grin. "Penelope said something very similar when we met. Sharp woman, and if I may say so, I do believe you'd quite like her." 

"I'll keep that in mind, sir, thank you." Privately, she thought he used just about twice as many words as needed whenever conveying something, but that was something she managed to keep to herself. 

.

The training grounds was an area within the citadel grounds but isolated from the rest of the castle grounds by two walls. There was the higher one leading out from the main grounds to a series of scrubby fields consisting mostly of rocks with weeds growing between them and the occasional short, short and crooked pine trees dotting the gentle slope downward, the path wide but uneven as it slithered down until it reach the second wall, and a low and sturdy wall encircling the area. It was a spectacular sight, consisting of patches of ground which had been evened into small plateaus by what must have been slavery (no free man would do such a thing, she knew). It was the first time landscaping impressed her, though that might be because it was outstanding for having been created before even the Roman Empire existed. Percy tried not to think of the backbreaking work (literally) which must have been put into this and kept on going.

Aedike scurried along a respectful few paces behind, something the raven wasn't entirely comfortable with: she'd much prefer the young woman walked alongside her, not at a sort-of distance like an intimidated fan. Which Percy knew she wasn't. She had that special gut feeling which informed her that Aedike wasn't too fond of her, which might be because Percy kept her at an apparently rude distance until then and prevented her from doing her job. She wasn't entirely sure. But if that was the case, and roles had been reversed, she wouldn't have minded having a day of sort-of leave. The leave consisting of following a girl of almost-thirteen around, which made it less appealing, but the point remained. 

She found Adrian at the edge of the the first ground, unstrapping a simple harnass of leather meant to take the brunt of any hits or strikes, bronzed skin slick with sweat. His dark locks were shorter than the last time she'd seen him, only reaching to jut around his pointy ears and curl at the nape of his neck, and matted with dust. At the sight of her, stuffed into a bright and fluttering getup, she could see his eyes gleam with laughter as a lopsided smirk curled his lips to flash hints of teeth. 

"Well, well, well, look who's awake," he called out once he'd deemed her near enough not to have to shout. "Finally decided I was worth the effort of getting up?" 

"Nice to see you too," Percy snarked with a boyish grin, swinging herself over the low wall with ease and feeling thankful that although her dress was impractical and foreign, her sandals were her own and very much practical. Aedike hesitated, then opted to stand on the other side since her not-quite-lady had yet to go further into the for warriors reserved grounds. "For how long was I out?" 

"The second day passed an hour ago, you missed a royal luncheon, doubt you'll ever see anything quite like it," he informed her, making a valiant effort to look smug but with too much relief lighting up his features for it to be entirely successful. Percy felt merciful and didn't comment, hiding a smile herself. The air was static with childish glee. 

"Hey, so," she started, tugging at those silly sleeves hanging light and airy around her arms, still thin as the growth spurt continued to egg her on to shoot upward like a poplar without leaving time for the sideward, "don't think we've ever sparred properly." 

He paused, only one strap left, sobering just enough for him to look mildly disapproving, a furrow hunting between his eyebrows. "I hardly think you're- wearing anything appropriate for such activities." 

A sennight ago, it'd have been a comment even more closely related to her femininity. A sennight ago, they wouldn't have had either time or energy to spar, they wouldn't have been this familiar with one another, not that easily. It was like being back in Camp Half Blood and that- was a golden rush quickly washed away by the twinge of guilt, by the stab of longing and home sickness usually kept at bay so well, by the tickle of thick, rushing affection she'd come to associate with only the closest of friends and now, Adrian had marched right up there, steadily staring back at her with that little smirk carving itself into her memories. Annabeth was meant to be in that reserved box, together with Grover and Tyson and Nico and maybe Rachel. 

"You're right," she ground out, managing a strained laugh through her grin as his eyebrows shot up at the confession. She inhaled sharply, because _oh gods, Adrian is a close friend, when did this happen_. "If I beat you in this you're pride will never recover. I'll change and kick your ass when I come back, so don't you move." 

Sprinting back did her good. The drumming of sandaled feet hitting the stony ground, the heat starting to find its way through her wispy layers, the salty breeze and _she has talked to the Odysseus, she has talked to him and oh gods, this is real, she is here, she isn't going back and she has a friend and this is real so real so real._ She wasn't sure whether to cry or laugh, smile or scream and in the end, Percy did have tears burning traitorously in the corner of her left eye but there was also a grin, so wide and wild that her dry, chapped lips split and when her tongue flicked out, salt and iron tang filled her mouth. And she felt good, truly good, for the first time in a full month. It felt as though she could fly but Zeus probably wouldn't like that, so it was best she stayed safely on the ground, although she had some italics to add to the level of safety the earth was on. 

Percy was relieved she didn't have to face the revelation in front of Adrian. She still had some pride and dignity.

Of course, all he said once she finally returned was: "Took you long enough."

"Haven't you been a good boy," she fired amicably at Adrian, who'd strapped his leather breastplate as well as a pair of forearm guards on again. Aedike had, despite having been out of breath and doing her very best to hide it, managed to conjure the most practical set of clothes in the wardrobe, which was a deep orange tunic which, although searing in color, only reached her knees and was of a flowing, but not flaring, material. Ordinarily it was meant to be worn over a pale peach dress reaching almost to the floor, but that part of the outfit had been discarded in favor of a piece of armor made of worn, supple leather. That it was borrowed from the armory when taking a small detour when heading back to the training grounds was a detail shared between the eager Percy and reluctant Aedike (who the raven suspected was warming to her, though it could very well be that Aedike's disapproval had only grown instead, it was hard to read the demure-statured, blank-faced young woman) was a convenient secret Adrian had most likely guessed right away. 

She reached up to her braid, unclasping her trusted hair clip, and then she was brandishing her bronze sword, the tip catching the light in an ever-wicked wink as she pointed it at him in a mockery of their first encounter. "Had enough of a break?" 

"That remains to be seen," he mused, piling his bow and arrows in the shade and picking up his spear, checking the mean dagger sheathed at his belt with his free hand as he got into a deceptively relaxed stance, tip of the spear only vaguely pointing her direction. But Percy had battled many and much, and she _saw_. The angle of the body, how easy it would be to thrust a stab right to her stomach, registered the nimble manner in which he balanced in the balls of his feet, the way he angled his body to protect his vulnerable left side. 

It was Percy who went on offense first, taking a step forth to get him within range whilst leaning back, avoiding the spear piercing the air where she'd stood a moment ago, taking a swing at his free right only to be blocked by the blunt opposite end of his weapon, bronze catching against bronze and for a moment, it was stalemate. But battles were a living thing, always shifting and moving, and she had to jump back when he took advantage of his height and weight to push her back with enough force to, had she been anybody else her age, stumble. 

Like an elastic pulled taut and then snapping back, they engaged. She sidestepped, twice avoiding the spear whose range kept her at bay before finding an opening to come in close, weaving and dancing and then they were steps apart again, only now she had wrapped her left hand around the bronze just below the tip, and for a moment, there was another opportunity for taking a deep breath. Then he twisted around and for a moment, gravity seemed to shift only to came back to her with full force as she fell backward, not wasting any time to take a swing at his ankles now that falling down brought her within range. Adrian was forced jump away to spare his feet from her steel.

On it went. Up the hill, she'd glimpsed a small group of people slowing as they passed by, but the moment of inattention cost her dearly and she jumped back as a cut grazed her forearm. She repayed it with a slash to his cheek, drawing blood.

"You met Lord Odysseus yet?" He asked, not quite breathless but almost, as he deflected a thrust of her sword.

"Unless it was an imposter, yes, but who knows," she started, eyes narrowed and flashing, "he seemed nice enough." 

A flash of teeth at his grin, the sun going from midday white to afternoon gold and highlighting that hint of copper in his dark curls. He leaned back precariously to avoid a swipe coming far too close to his head. "Then you're not nearly distrustful enough."

"Thanks," Percy grunted while she feinted a second thrust to finally land a solid hit at her third swing, pushing him back and then they were back to how it had started, her blade at his jugular and his eyes still mirthful. "But I think I can take care of problems coming my way. I declare myself winner." 

"Fair enough," he ceded after a moment, taking a step back, "though I _did_ practice and tire myself before you came, so I'd say we're actually about even." 

"Idiot," she felt the need to say, mostly because he sounded like she had done whenever losing to Annabeth and so she better say what Annabeth would've said, and turned on her heel to go back to the low wall inviting her to sit on it and Aedike who -bless her- had brought along a waterskin. Only to find the blunt end of his spear tripping her up and almost making her fall before she regained her balance, whipping around to zero in on Adrian and shooting him her deluxe glare. 

"Not nearly distrustful enough," he maintained with a scoffing smirk. 

.

_Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Percy, happy birthday to me._

Cleanly scrubbed and feeling very fresh, back in that flowing teal dress robe just a shade closer to blue than her eyes, she almost felt comfortable. The day was approaching its close and she had no even realized that she was now officially a teenager again. Which wasn't that much of an accomplishment, banning the fact that she was still alive which she quite liked. She'd managed to lose Aedike by climbing out of the gracefully carved balcony which was attached to the one next door: the chambers neighboring hers had clearly been inhabited, if the clothes strewn around and messy bed were anything to go by, not to mention personal trinkets randomly placed around, but luckily there had been no signs of life and she'd quickly snuck out to the hallway and sprinted in the general direction she figured the training grounds were in. She hadn't ended up at the plateaus, but the cliffs just next to it which was just as good. 

For a moment, she'd been back on Same, climbing down smooth, pale rocks toward the sea where a beach of smooth rocks awaited, but luckily there were no drakons chasing her this time around. Percy had settled on a smooth, flat boulder and if she reached out, the tips of her toes could touch the clear waters of the mellow sea. She could see the pebbles on the seabed just below, smooth and cool of grays and whites. 

The dusting of clouds drifting across the usually clear skies caught the light of the sinking sun, yet to become a splattering of color even if hints of pale salmon had started hinting at the fuzzy edges of the clouds. She craved chocolate, which was never a good sign, and thought that she'd even spar with Clarisse if it meant getting ahold of the goodies from the future. She imagined herself a large, round cake dripping with rich brown and filled with _mousse au chocolate_. 

Of course, that cake wasn't there. 

But Percy was, and the scenery of early evening made up for it. Mostly. People ate dinner so very late around the Mediterranean, which usually did not always agree with her because of all the time passing since lunch, but it did give her aplenty of time to enjoy the day. She was determined to enjoy her little moment of peace, though she'd unfortunately heard Aedike calling for her, up the hill, but it didn't seem like she'd been found yet -even if the tall brunette was getting closer, unbeknownst to said woman.

But at the moment, there was peace.

"Saw you practice earlier today," a voice called out from behind Percy, and she whipped around to find a young man approaching form her left, walking along the coastline with a light gait and hair mussed up, a hint of metal glinting on the left amidst the tresses rendered course by salt water. When he jumped from one stone to the other, each separated by water, she knew she looked at somebody who had been in a lot of fights even if there were no scars to prove it. He had the same muscles she had, Luke had possessed: he was handy and comfortable with a sword. 

And he'd seen her spar. He must have been one of those in the group passing buy up the hill earlier that day. Her shoulders were tense even though he seemed to be at ease, luckily for him he stopped three rocks away. She couldn't tell if it was because it was the polite thing to do or because the last three steps would've been tricky jumps. 

"Can't say the same about you," said her mouth, which seemed to make decisions of its own. A little moment of peace was apparently not going to be granted. There was something unusual about him, something familiar. She figured his pale hair was what made him an odd sight, for he was the first she'd seen so far in Greece who had hair the color of golden sand. And it reached his shoulders, barely wavy, telling of his status.

"That can be remedied," was the easy answer, "should you do me the honor of finding yourself at the grounds tomorrow at the noon." 

That fancy speech didn't entirely fit with the glitter of his pale green green eyes or the way he seemed to be smothering a grin. She guessed him to be in his early twenties. Her brain went _uhhh_ , because she had no idea who he was or why he was here, let alone how to ask him, but she didn't have to worry about that:

Aedike came to the rescue like a saving grace. Or saving servant: Percy had trouble calling her servant, it gnawed at her like a little rodent at an old rope. 

"Milady," she started rushedly, almost breaking her mask to sound relieved and aggravated, "I have been searching- oh, please forgive me," she then said, noticing Percy's rather unwanted companion and bowing deeply with eyes not leaving her feet. "Lord Achilles."

And Percy had to pause for a good moment, but her mouth seemed to be quicker than her mind for she heard herself question in all her doubting glory: " _You_ are Achilles?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: first, this was meant to be published back in late November early December but then the exams came up, so I thought "I'll give them a Christmas present, then", but that didn't happen either because family reunions, so it was meant as a Happy New Year gift, but hahaha, so finally I pulled myself together and decided that last Saturday was going to be an update-day at the latest. Ahaha.
> 
> Maybe this will make your Tuesday a little brighter? 
> 
> Also, a HUGE apology from my side for the delays. At the very least, I can assure you this: even if it sometimes takes an embarrassing amount of time for me to publish the next chapter, I will never, ever, discontinue this. Because suddenly, the next chapter will be out there. Yes, it will. Promise.
> 
> (Btw, yes, I know the word "sir" doesn't exist in Ancient Greece, but they're literally speaking Ancient Greek anyway so we can pretend it's the equivalent, right?)
> 
> Also, I am mourning the lack of proper pants in this fic. I truly am. I just have no imagination when it comes to clothes already, and everybody wearing sorta similar thing is already difficult enough, but for spars? I'm like, what can Percy wear now?


	5. Percy Does a Lot of Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy meets people. People meet Percy. It's a recipe for disaster but luckily she's just a little bit ridiculous in her own way and therefore sayings don't always stick to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, an update already.... (this is, by the way, meant a little bit ironically. Just a little.) 
> 
> But anyway: as always I'm stupefied by the positive response. I'm having a bit of an ego-trip here but I'm doing my best to flatten my ego back in return by watching sappy romcom movies and thinking about how my life isn't turning out like that. 
> 
> THANK YOU GUYS!!! FOR EVERYTHING!
> 
> This chapter focuses on properly introducing a young Achilles. The gods aren't far away either, anymore... 
> 
> Ps, explanation for Percy's reactions and emotions is established in the very last paragraph of this chap....

"I'd wager I am," Achilles quipped, which he wasn't supposed to do, though nobody had ever asked Percy's opinion on what ancient legends were supposed to be like. His smile was all teeth but his teal eyes held what seemed to be an ill-hidden mirth. 

She managed to hold back any answer which might've come across as witty or generally insulting to the male ego (as she'd learned that she had to be extra careful around her first four sentences around strangers, even if said stranger could accept her status as warrior without batting an eye), clamping her teeth shut on the tip of her tongue. She said: "I'm Persia, but something tells me you already know that." 

"You may enlighten that something that they are quite right," he answered, far too light. "You may also inquire -if that something is feeling chatty- if you will find yourself at the training fields tomorrow when the sundial reaches four." 

"That something is telling me that arranging meetings with strange men isn't a good idea," Percy informed him. "That something is also not the one making any decisions around here, you'll have to ask the actual person. She, as a matter of fact, is saying she's ready to fight whenever." 

Vivid eyes never leaving hers, he nonchalantly gestured for Aedike to leave, not even glancing at the brunette. Aedike bowed, slowly retreating until she had reached a distance far away enough to be able to stand up straight and fully turn around without being disrespectful. 

"Splendid," Achilles said, stepping over the last few stepping stones across the water to reach Percy's boulder. She quickly rose to her feet again, the rock providing additional height: she could still look down at him from a strategic position of height, especially as he was still a safe few steps away. His expression softened as he spied across the vast sea stretching infinitely before them, deep and mysterious and eager to catch the amber sun in its descent. "You have found a good place to stand. It makes one feel both small and mighty at the same time." 

The waves brushed against his feet when they met the rock he stood upon, too mellow to spray but existent enough to splatter gently upon his toes like a greeting. 

"Hmmm," Percy considered, starting to relax marginally when he didn't jump up to stand directly next to her. "It makes me feel calm. Less like I'm about to die the next second because the universe is opening up to swallow me whole." 

He slanted a glance at her. "If you say so." 

There was something brazen about his words, about the way an easy smirk seemed to flirt with the corners of his lips. 

"You don't fear death," she stated, head tilted to the side and remembering the feeling of power, overwhelming and delicious and impossible to live without, lighting fire to her veins after battling Hades's skeletal army. She couldn't imagine spending a whole life like that, never knowing anything different, always with that edge beneath the skin. "You don't even spare a thought about it." 

"The day I'm old and with a white beard longer than Plato's, I'll offer good Lord Hades a great offering and go to bed peacefully." Was his answer, then lips twisted upward with sort of misplaced feeling of cheer or amusement. "Until then, I simply help others to our downstairs neighbor. I'd say I've helped him expand his empire quite well."

"What of their families?" She had to ask, had to prod, because she'd been in New York and there was such a difference when it came to slaying beasts and having to fight humans. "That's all you have to say of the people who die?" 

He sighed, almost patronizing but still too at ease and bold to pull it off. "Ah, the moral lecture. They come at me -quite futilely, I'd say- and I answer." 

"Battle isn't a conversation," Percy pointed out. "Unless you're Odysseus. But he doesn't count, he's a category of his own." 

"Words can be sharper than blades," Achilles said in a philosophical manner. "But I've never had much use of them, nor the skills or patience and whatnot to wield them. No head left, no more words." 

Until then, she'd thought him affable. Now the weight of Riptide was a comforting reminder against her scalp.

"Please tell me that when you're the one without a head." 

He turned to her, almost thoughtful. Up close, she noticed his dark gold hair to be rendered coarse at the tips by the sea. She judged him to be in his early twenties, though it was hard to tell.

"People have tried to behead me," he started contemplatively, "but I must say they haven't been successful in their endeavors." A grin. "Unfortunately, those who have tried rarely get to tell others how hopeless it is." 

"That's morbid," she commented, breathing in deeply, lungs filling with the salty breeze. Childishly, she thought: _the sea likes me better than you_. Her mood was steadily disappearing down the drain and was replaced by the beginning of a murky whirlpool. 

"That may be," he conceded in such a fashion it wasn't a concession at all. "But this morbid person is thinking about the feast being prepared at Lord Odysseus' citadel at the moment and he thinks he'd like to go there. May the morbid person escort Lady Persia back to the castle? One never knows what could be hiding among the rocks." 

"He may," she agreed pointedly, "I'm terrified of the little crabs which might be lurking." 

The look she gave him when jumping down the boulder to stand next to him could've flattened Clarisse. He grinned down at the teenaged raven, something she could only describe as snooty lurking beneath the surface: "I imagined you taller." 

"If I were to chop your head off and stand on it, that problem would be solved." 

.

"By the gods, where have you been?" Adrian's face were contorted into one of irritation and relief. "Honestly girl, you can't take off like that the moment it strikes your fancy." 

"Were you worried? If so, you're very welcome to call me Percy instead, like you finally started doing before," she suggested, "you know, like a civilized person. And as a matter of fact, I _can_ run off just like that. I just did." 

He sighed, "I- Percy, do not recklessly flap around with words and actions this eve. Don't... go out alone again, there are strange people and you're a stick of a girl who somehow manages to still have the air of attraction," he stated drily. 

"You mean a _slip_ of a girl-" 

" _Stick_ of a girl," he insisted flatly while he led her down the corridor, wrapping thumb and middle finger around her wrist to make a point. "Stick-" 

And the whirlpool inside grew. 

"Also," Percy continued before he could go into one of his rants, stopping at the door of her room with her own finger pointed right at his chest and a tired smile stretching too wide, too jagged, across her bronzed face: "I am very, very, very sure that if we're classifying people by strange and normal, I'm in the strange category." 

She closed the door after that, fingers dragging through her inky locks, grit beneath her finger nails and sand dust between her toes. A foot-bath sounded inviting. In fact, diving right into the sea and swimming with the dolphins sounded nice. Even better, being with Annabeth who'd be able to make sense of things and Grover who'd share her feelings quite literally and Tyson who'd chase away her worries and Nico who'd be amazing by simply being there and putting things into perspective- 

She wasn't going there. 

With a shake of her head, heaving a sigh deeper than the ocean to hush the storm inside, she called out: "Aedike?" 

She heard her own hesitance wavering in the name. 

"Milady?" The young woman stepped forward from where she'd patiently been waiting. Percy scanned her features, searching for any signs of anger or resentment. She found nothing. "How may I be of assistance?" 

"Is it- would it be possible to wash my feet?" Percy asked, subtly trying to remove the dark sickles from beneath her nails. "Just quick dip. If it's not a bother, that is." 

"Of course, milady," she nodded deeply and then went into the adjoint bathroom. A few moments later, Percy followed, still not used to the servant business and feeling as though she had two left tongues. 

An ornate tub specifically designed for foot-baths was positioned in front of a wide stool. While Aedike filled it with water from a heavy pitcher apparently ready for any requests along the lines of small baths, Percy perched herself upon the stool, the flowing turquoise fabric of her dress gathered in her lap, thumb absently stroking the smooth material as she held it secured in her grasp. 

Slipping her feet into the cool water reaching her ankles, toes wriggling, she smiled. The smile fell when Aedike conjured a sort of sponge, about to kneel next to the tub to scrub her feet. 

"Oh, no- that's okay, I can- there's no- you don't need to clean my feet for me," Percy protested, fingers wrapping around the woman's wrist. Aedike froze into a statue. Percy quickly let go at the brunette's shocked expression -which was quickly schooled back into its professional smoothness- with a tingling palm and pads of her fingers. "I wouldn't want your hands to get dirty." 

Aedike nodded after a moment, standing up and taking two steps back, ready for any other demand or request. Percy felt awkward, sponge in one hand and dress in the other. Tucking the skirts of the robe beneath her thighs to keep it out of her way, she felt obliged to say: "I'm not used to this. I just, I always feel so awful when people try to do things for me when I could do them instead." 

"Of course, milady," Aedike murmured, not giving an inch, brown eyes steady and veiled, tanned hands clasped in front of her. 

"No, no that's exactly it, you don't have to agree with me. I want to hear you opinion, I want to hear you- you as in who you are, not your role here." 

"I see," Aedike agreed mellowly. 

Percy sighed, dipping the sponge into the water and balancing one foot on her bare knee above the water for the tub to catch the droplets raining back down. The material of the sponge was soft yet held a certain roughness to it as she scraped it against the soles of her feet. The skin there was dark with filth and grit never properly scrubbed away and hardened from all the time walking barefoot. 

And she scrubbed all the dark dirt away from her skin, wishing there was a way to scrape away at the shadows inside as well. 

A sigh, and then Percy rushed: "Say, have you gotten any tips about how not to be killed in a conversation? How to stop people from wanting to kill you, I mean. So that killing me wouldn't even cross anybody's mind to begin with." 

"Well," she started slowly, a pause detected. "Perhaps I would, should I have been of different standing than I am and therefore invited, avoid any insults. However inadvertently it may be. I would simply weigh my words should I feel it could be dangerous, and otherwise always keep to harmless talk." 

"And if insulting people is, like, a genetic defect you can't avoid?" 

"A- forgive me, I do not understand," Aedike murmured. 

Of course genetics was still a foreign concept. 

"I mean," she quickly went on, "if insulting people just happens. You can't stop it properly, at all." 

A pause. Percy started working on her heel. Aedike answered: "Then I would pretend to be somebody I am not, milady. At times, it may be easier to follow an act than to try change a behavioral pattern." 

"Is that what you do?" Percy blurted out. 

"Forgive me, milady," was the serene reply. "I fail to see what you mean." 

"I mean- oh, it's nothing," she grumbled. She finished scrubbing her foot in silence, slipping it back into the water and resting her left foot upon her right knee to start working on the other one. "Actually, there is one thing. How do I greet a king?" 

"I would recommend 'my Lord', if I may say so," Aedike contributed generously. 

"And what about rich, wealthy, powerful people who aren't kings? Say, princes? Or those like Adrian, only I haven't met them yet?" 

"Lord Adrian is the son of Hermes, milady, he is different," Aedike started slowly. Then she finally seemed to get the hint that Percy was in dire need for advise, which the raven hadn't been very subtle about to begin with, and said: "You are the daughter of Poseidon, milady: the only ones you are expressed to address as 'my lord' here would be the kings. I would say 'sir' will do the trick with others." 

And to think she'd gone around calling Odysseus 'sir' earlier that day. 

She was looking less and less forward to going to the feast. 

"Okay, thanks," she expressed, doing her best to not be sullen. She finished scrubbing her feet in silence, then accepted the small towel cloth Aedike offered her. Finished, she stood up straight and glanced into the uneven mirror at her reflection. "I don't need to change clothes a fifth time today, right? These are okay? As in, nobody would feel grievously insulted because I didn't wear something else?"  

"With all due respect, I would recommend another layer atop," Aedike tactfully said, "and perhaps a piece of jewelry." 

"Well, I don't have anything remotely glittery and I hardly think seashells would be acceptable if I can't go in these fancy robes," Percy pointed out, wiping her feet one last time before heading toward the wardrobe together with Aedike. "Whose are they, actually?" 

"Yours, milady," she said, sliding the heavy curtain of the closet open to reveal all the clothes there. After a few moments of watching, eyes critiquing the contents and probably imagining them on the girl already dressed in light blue-green layers, she picked out a white, sleeveless thing fluttering at any movements, so thin it was almost see-through, and helped Percy into it, draping it in all the right ways and nipping her waist with a shiny chord of silvery material around her lower ribs, wrapping it various times. 

Percy's tongue was tied for a long time. Finally, she asked: "How can this be mine?" 

"Lord Odysseus said you would always have a place to return to here," Aedike explained serenely, and all Percy could think of was the hawkishness of his gaze and the tales of scheming and brains she'd heard of. This wasn't caused by pure, heartfelt pity and generosity for girl who'd lost her home. So what was it?

"How generous," she mused, thinking to Adrian: _take that, not nearly distrustful enough_. 

"Yes, milady." 

Combing through her tangles waves and curls with her now clean fingers, Percy said: "Would you help me with this? It's always in the way and, well, I'd like it in something other than a braid."

"Of course, milady," Aedike expressed blandly, and the young girl let herself be steered into the bathroom and perched herself upon the stool again. The tub was put away to allow her feet some rest against the pleasantly warm floor. Even though it was still hot outside -and consequently in her chambers, curtesy of the great open windows of her room- the difference in temperature compared with when the beaming sun had stood high and bright almost made the breeze feel chilly. It was an odd paradox Percy had fallen in love with. 

"Just- I'd like something which keeps it from my face, please," Percy requested and told herself it was like being at the hairdresser's, something she'd only done three or four times in her old life. The good thing about untamable hair was that it hardly made a difference if Sally ( _oh gods Sally what was Sally thinking how had Percy not spent more thoughts on her and she was supposed to be with her mom now_ ) cut it instead of a professional. It looked just about the same, either way. 

Aedike went to work, brandishing a heavy comb and three pins like Percy handled sword and shield. After a whole lot of hair-tugging, Percy could look in the mirror: bangs and hair framing her temples were pulled back and secured with the pearly white Riptide clip, and when reaching back to skim across it with her fingers she felt the smaller pins studded with blue-gray pearls had been tastefully fastened throughout the section. They were most likely there to prevent any unruly tresses from escaping, but it had been done in such a fashion it wasn't apparent. 

"Thank you." 

Percy stood up and turned around, smiling at the older woman. Aedike, like a servant was expected to do, averted her stare to the floor and bowed her head: "Glad to be of assistance, milady." 

Percy breathed in, gearing up to launch a rant about how she wanted Aedike to say what she actually thought, but then breathed out with a huff. It was a battle she'd have to postpone. With her luck, Adrian would've been waiting right outside the entire time and they'd be late. She feared it'd be like in those historical movies about the Middle Ages, Renaissance and Golden Age and whatnot when every new arrival was announced with pomp and flair to the entire room. 

It made her stomach flip and slither in ways it shouldn't do.

She was almost certain they didn't do that in Ancient Greece but one could never be too certain: she'd never been as glad she wasn't further into the future. What if she'd ended up in Victorian England, all corsets and politeness and the US only a footnote in the margins but still so tantalizingly close, or worse: Nazi Germany in a family she wouldn't be able to help but love even if their convictions were all wrong- what if she was an ordinary human in any scenario? 

Outside, the sky was darkening with streaks of oranges and reds while the sea started gobbling up the sun, almost like a painted masterpiece with how the scene was framed through the grand window openings. 

When she opened the door, Adrian was indeed there.

"What took you so long?" He tried to scowl but it didn't quite work. In fact, he almost seemed eager to see how uncomfortable she'd get during the feast, but it could also be that he looked forward to the food with passion. 

"Let's get this over with," she muttered. 

And so it was that Percy, hand neatly tucked in the crook of Adrian's arm, found herself making her way towards the head table up front of Ithaca's version of the Great Hall. The pro of the entire situation was that almost all had already arrived and the mood therefore wasn't awkward. There were also no embarrassing announcements made at the grand door at every entrance, nor anything remotely similar. The con was that she, as mentioned before, was on her way to the head table on the slight elevation where Odysseus sat upon his throne -a generous term for the modest seat he'd picked for himself- at the head of said table. To his right sat a beautiful woman Percy assumed to be Penelope. Her hair was ebony with single streak of moonlight silver dancing through, the locks up in a beautifully simplistic hairdo leaving some of the tight curls to frame her pale face. The only other signs of age were to be spotted around the rosy plushness of her mouth and the creases framing the dark brown eyes glittering with both laughter and intelligence. To Odysseus' left sat Achilles, clad in more layers than at the beach, all whites and indigos with the two silvers beads threaded into the sunny waves of his hair occasionally brushing against his jawline. 

"Welcome Adrian, Persia," Odysseus greeted with a paternal smile, pale eyes alert. "Your arrival in Ithaca and fulfilled quest are both most appreciated."

"It's an honor to be here, my Lord," Adrian spoke, to which Percy nodded in the most cultivated manner she could since she'd decided that not babbling when it could be avoided was the best tactic for the first hour: nobody would be drunk yet to instantly forgive, let alone forget. 

"The honor is all ours," Penelope assured with the most sincere of smiles, then gestured toward the two seats left empty nearby. She wore the necklace Adrian and Percy retrieved at the peril of their lives: its gleaming stone was nestled snugly between her collarbones. "Do sit down." 

And it was just Percy's luck that her designated spot was next to the young blond king. To her other side sat Adrian. In front of her sat an elderly man with a kind smile but sharp eyes with a woman next to him who had a sharp smile but kind eyes (most likely his wife) in front of Adrian. Various people in a fast-paced conversations made up the rest of her tablemates. 

Instantly, the elderly man roped Adrian into telling him all about the adventures: Adrian, of course, started doing so with great skill as he painted a heroic, humorous picture of the ordeal which, of course, left out any unsavory details such as the gore or Percy standing on at least equal footing as him. 

Meanwhile, with Odysseus and Penelope greeting the next person who'd come up to the head of the table to pay their respects, Achilles did what Achilles wasn't supposed to do and turned his attention to Percy. The light cast by the many fires made his eyes seem closer to unnatural pale green than they truly were.

"Why, it's a pleasure meeting you again," he smiled genially. "I daresay you look better with your hair out of the braid." 

"I really wouldn't know," Percy informed him. "And we'll have to see about how much of a pleasure it is for you to see me again- you haven't been introduced to my table manners yet." 

Why did she have to feel at ease, as though she could say whichever crossed her mind, around the one person who had the least qualms about killing people? 

"Well, I'm certain your table manners are quick learners." 

She fought a snort: "I wouldn't bet on it." 

"Well, _something_ tells me," he started, a slow grin curling his chapped lips, "that they very much are. If you can fight Adrian at- thirteen, then you're a quick learner." 

Percy turned to face him properly. "You can tell that something that if you learn fast in some areas you need to compensate in others." 

A theatrical sigh. "Oh, the woes of being too quick of a learner. Having to choose what to be less at..." 

Percy pretended not to notice the razor laugh hidden in the corner of his eye. Servants -at least she assumed these to be servants, though she wouldn't be able to say the same about any cleaners or cooks- started carrying out great platters and dishes, one after the other and smells mingling until the buffet was a great exotic paradise colonizing the tables. Somebody poured what she suspected to be wine or an equivalent into her waiting cup. She was grateful to spot a metal carafe containing clear water being handled by the elderly man diagonally in front of her. 

"And you are very sympathetic, of course," she said, mostly because that was what entered her nervous mind. He grinned at her before taking a generous gulp from his own goblet, eyebrows arching when the taste hit. He raised it in Odysseus' direction when said man slanted him a glance. 

"Oh, naturally," he agreed pleasantly after a moment, "how could I not after having endured such a hardship myself?" 

"And yet you soldiered on," she commented dully, the topic grating against something inside even as the way it happened soothed any inflamed nerves he'd struck before.

(Annabeth would've whacked her long ago for it. Percy couldn't even say what "it" was anymore.)

"Soldiering on appears to be my destiny," he confided, calloused fingers tracing the ornate engravings circling his goblet. 

"How tragic." 

He finally sobered. "Well, cannot say I have reason of complaint. There's not a thing in life I'd change, had I the power to. Would you?" 

"Um," she started, finding she'd brought her own cup to her lips by habit at the beginning of thirst itching in her throat. "I can think of a thing or two." 

Percy wished she was kidding. 

She quickly took a considerable sip before placing it back on the small empty spot in the table where it had come from. She'd been prepared for the taste -cheap wine hadn't been a stranger to her during her last few months in the future, when she'd been convinced by Rachel to attend a high school party or seven, but it was young-Persia's first try and while she was successful in her endeavor not to let it show, the taste still felt too sour and dry for it to be pleasant in the slightest. 

She continued; "One of them would be not knowing what all of this is." 

She nodded toward the food laden upon the long table. 

He nodded, a huff of laughter spilling from his lips. "Well, I'd stay away from that there, it doesn't taste of anything." 

With a knife he pointed toward a great bowl filled with a sort of purée she suspected to be the result of squashed legumes or some root fruit. There was, of course, no cutlery apart from the occasional knife for meat or an odd contraption a truce between a spoon and shovel for some of the bowls. There was one for that particular bowl, which had a small basket of sticky olive bread placed next to it. 

The first thing Percy did was to take a good dollop of the mush and dump it upon her silver plate, followed by the bread, which was then followed by an assortment of carefully chopped fruit and grapes, some odd nuts and what Percy suspected to be marinated lamb. 

Her stomach growled. It had been too long since the last decent meal. It had been too long since any meal at all, in fact. 

Achilles, after raising an eyebrow at her first choice, had started filling his own plate. 

The taste of the wine still clung to the back of her tongue, dry no matter how many times she swallowed. Telling herself she should be able to explain what ancient wine tasted like if she ever saw Annabeth again, she was quite alright with fighting the dryness with a second try, this time trying to memorize the taste. Before the sourness set in she detected a strong fruity flavor underlining anything else. Then everything was old lime and desert again. 

"Hungry?" Achilles asked, nodding toward her filled plate. "Where's all that going to go?" 

"That something which told me not to agree to spar with you also needs food," Percy supplied tartly. She glanced down at the heap in front of him. "Does a certain morbid person also happen to be hungry?" 

She glanced up at the wrong moment: paired with the suddenly resurfacing memory of his careless take on battle the image of him swallowing the dark red liquid made it seem as though he were drinking blood. For a fraction of a second the merry festivities seemed to blur and fade and all she recalled was death and destruction and- 

"He's always hungry," Achilles murmured and she failed to be oblivious to what the side of him shaped by battle and war would be craving. Her eyes flickered over her own goblet, then decided she shouldn't drink more. But, hairs in the back of her neck still tingling, she added to herself: not that soon after he had, at least. 

It turned out she had another frank person at her hands. First Adrian, now Achilles. And then there was Odysseus at the opposite end of the spectrum: who knew why every word escaping him as he talked with those two business men had for intentions? 

A shiver ghosted down her spine while Achilles continued; "Oh, and I'd pay mind to leaving space for the dessert-" 

Percy deemed enough time to have passed and took what she told herself was the final gulp of the wine -ripe fruit and bloom and then her mouth was parched again- before starting with the mush by scooping it up with the slices of olive bread she'd taken. It was indeed a sort of legume purée, warm and rich upon her tongue and thankfully without too many spices to burn the taste away. 

Time escaped its leash and raced forward, faster and faster with each bite, each sip, each word. By the time the table was more than halfway through the enormous amount of food prepared for them, voices and atmosphere had risen even further. The four tables below were one great buzz of laughter and voices mingling together, and if any of the men at the high table would've wanted Percy's or Adrian's privileged seats they would've forgotten all about that by then. Wine came and went and gestures grew, tongues loosened and even the most sober of them would've been intoxicated by the mood alone: it hung heavy in the air along with the heady scents and potent smells, tangible for each time one breathed in and curling in the lungs like sweet and wet smoke, a sticky layer on the tongue, a brush to the ear and thick in the nose. 

Any discomfort was quickly drowned away.  

"Today sees your birthday?" Achilles confirmed with eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. A by then familiar servant came to refill their two empty cups and while Percy managed to force a halfhearted indication that she didn't want a third one -after which she filled it with water to make a statement- Achilles welcomed the fifth cup with a christening by drink. 

"Yes, but hush," she instructed, prodding with a crust of bread at the little remnants of purée dozing on her plate. How he'd ever been able to find it tasteless had been explained once she saw for what strength of flavor he went for (after which he'd told her, somewhat boyishly smug, that he'd once eaten too-spicy Arabic food and that most things were tasteless nowadays). "Adrian can't know- he'd love to embarrass me."

Adrian himself was handling his umpteenth cup with skill, still sharp-eyed and easy-smiled and telling the tale of the time he'd saved the village from which he'd later steal Percy's clothes from. His audience had grown, each person on the edge of their chair and making the right sounds at just the right places, a gasp here and a chuckle there and Adrian led them through his tale like a museum guide would lead his tourists who were only too eager to be impressed. 

"You tempt me, Persia," he uttered, skewering a white fillet of fish and dragging half of it onto his plate. "But I'm afraid this tempted me more." 

"I'm devastated," she assured, first signs of weariness brushing at the edge of her senses, movements idle as she started shaping the mush into what resembled a fat stickman. "And you are... twenty-three?" 

He shook his head but when he was unable to suppress a gloating grin, it betrayed the estimate was one he liked. 

"Twenty-one?" 

Another shake of his head, the beads catching the light of the many torches lining the stone walls, wild and flickering like dancing serpents. Something about his demeanor also spoke of how he maybe shouldn't have accepted that fifth cup, but Percy wasn't moral enough to feel bad about fighting a hungover opponent tomorrow: especially not when that opponent was someone as powerful as Achilles. 

"You're going to have to tell me, I feel- erm- like," she shrugged, not having had anything to say in the first place. 

"Nineteen," he gave in without fussing. "Here's the grand surprise you've been awaiting, and I jest not- my birthday was two days ago." 

"So you're actually a teenager," Percy accused, biting of part of the bread crust. "And- wait, hold on, does the River Styx supply you with extra growth and muscle or something? That's cheating." 

He was a virtual sun of smugness, grinning into his plate while carefully removing a stray fish rib.

"And he has an ego," she noted. 

"He does not," Achilles denied in a lazy drawl. "He only happens to be aware of his own prowess and astonishing skills-"

"Have you ever heard of hubris? It's a fatal flaw. Take note of the word _fatal_." 

With the remains of her crust, she deliberately severed the purée head from its mushy shoulders. Percy fought a smirk when his eyes momentarily flickered to her plate at the gesture. 

"That's morbid," he commented with a wink hidden in his smile.  

"Then it's an accurate portrayal," she grinned freely when the first desserts started appearing in the doorways, various fruits the unsurprising earlycomers. Apples, cucumbers, olives and the likes were removed from the table and replaced by melons, peaches, pears, nectarines, cherries, green grapes, dates- there were even oranges and were those bananas? It was a gradual replacing of meals. She wondered what would take the place of the lamb and mush. 

"You wound me."

"I'd say I did," Percy agreed, studying her beheaded figure. "Though I'm not sure beheading counts as a wound."

"Wound implies it's survivable," he mused with an easy grin, raising the goblet back to his lips and having to tilt his golden head back while drinking to finish it all. Once done, vivid seafoam green eyes found hers, intense and so green, so bright, "but I know from a whole lot of practical application that beheading is not something you recover from." 

It finally struck her why talking to him was so easy: he treated her like a human, not a female to be objectified. She instantly told him as much, because that was what her wine-addled mind found to be a good idea. 

"Ah, yes," he sighed sagely, "when a man has encountered enough goddesses, he learns that a degree of regard is easier when handling women of certain standing."

"Never mind." 

.

The following morning, after sleeping in for an ungodly amount of time and feeling pleasantly drowsy even if the light permeating her room was far too bright, there was a red stain marring her sheets and all Percy could think, through her horror and disbelief, was that it _did_ explain some aspects of her mood the last two days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just adored writing this chapter. You may not like it, everybody has different tastes, but I just had so much fun. 
> 
> I started out by loosely basing Achilles' speech of Marvel's Thor. I find they did a great job combining old-fashioned flower-talk with his golden retriever character, though that isn't to say Achilles has any of the same character, I'd say he's a bit too dark for that. 
> 
> Also, this chapter? The Percy-Achilles dynamic? I began writing it while trying to find my footing and suddenly this happened because holy crap the two of them together just.... wrote themselves. I just. Like. I can't.  
> In a few years, is this Achercy or Perilles? (The former sounds cooler but the latter is a funny wordplay.)
> 
> As always, this is not beta:ed. We die like Spartans.  
> Take care^^


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